


Winter The Whole Year Round

by RM_Worthington77



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 61,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7658878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RM_Worthington77/pseuds/RM_Worthington77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier has been missing since his last mission for HYDRA several months ago. Who better to find him than the best spy the KGB has ever recruited and trained? But Natasha Romanoff doesn't work for the Russians anymore. And this mission isn't even one that she's doing for SHIELD. This one is personal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

*********************************************************************

**Chapter One**

_“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”_

It's another of those old sayings that Steve is so fond of spouting, and the absolute illogical logic of it usually coaxes a smile from Natasha Romanoff, because....really? For a ninety year-old super soldier who still looks like he's thirty to be the one quoting such an irony as though it's somehow informative to those already knowing his life's story, well, that's just pretty damn funny to her. 

Maybe even more hilarious, however, is that it springs to mind as she waits there alone, crouched low in the quiet darkness of the high-rise complex's musky corridor. 

As much as Natasha would like to deny exactly why that particular old saying drifts into her thoughts at this specific time, why bother rejecting something that's so blatant? It's pretty much right there, smack dead in her face, and there's no sense denying what's really nagging at her about it. What she's secretly pondering. 

Stupid little things like, how will he react? Or will he even react at all? 

Will he remember who she is this time? Or will he struggle so hard to recall just where and how they'd met that he ultimately appears defeated, before unleashing his most deadly weapon on her....in the form of the wounded expression that stabs her right in the heart every single time just like the first? 

If he'd shot her it would've been less painful. 

_“There are a lot of things you don't know about me.”_ she'd once told her friend Steve Rogers—the good, young-looking old guy who's annoyingly fond of vintage quotes and who also just happens to be Captain fucking America, by the way—and she'll be damned if that isn't a vast understatement where all the things she keeps tucked safely away inside her brain are concerned. 

She does it for their protection as much as her own. At least that's what she's convinced herself.

Thankfully, Steve's not immune to secrets, as he's likely accumulated a few himself over the past several decades, his best friend from boyhood being one of them. He'd never so much as mentioned his best buddy to Nat, but she'd finally made the connection on her own through some things she'd been told, and then the display at the Smithsonian had confirmed it. 

Natasha's pretty sure that this secret will come back to bite her in the ass some day, too, the way secrets often can...even when they aren't yours to keep. 

_Steve, there's something I really need to tell you about that guy you called Bucky....._

After stalking the entrance of his apartment for what had been nearly an hour, her heart rate quickens the moment she catches a glimpse of the lengthy silhouette headed her direction beneath the dim overhead lights in the corridor. She hadn't heard any approaching footsteps. Which is not entirely surprising at all given how he's always been capable of simply materializing at a scene without so much as a prior hint of his arrival. 

_He appears like a ghost from the gray mist. It's one of the things he excels at._

And only one of very many, Natasha knows from experience. Yes, another lifetime....another of her special secrets, even though it's probably the biggest she's kept from the rest of the Avengers crew to date.

In her own defense, she hadn't known how intimately the sergeant's life had been interwoven with the captain's during those days she'd spent training with him in the Red Room. How could she have known that he'd once been like a big brother to Steve back in Brooklyn before WWII? The man that the Soviets had 'purchased' for temporary use from Hydra had simply been sent to mentor her. 

She'd been nothing more than another mission for him....

At least until the complicated feelings had started to develop. 

What dangerous little things those can be....feelings. 

The silhouette pauses at the threshold of an apartment just about twenty yards away from her well-concealed spot, and suddenly his dark form seems to be looming....overwhelming the confined space between them. He's not moving at all....paused and perfectly still. Listening, surveying the area. Examining. 

Natasha's breath instinctively catches in her throat and is held there....her entire catlike poise going rigid as stone while retaining her crouched position in the neck of the stairwell. 

She hopes like hell he can't hear her, because she's one of the few people in existence who also knows how keen his hearing can be. If she flinches, moves so much as a muscle or cracks a bone, his finely tuned ears will detect the sound of her motion, of joints moving and muscles coiling or constricting beneath her warm flesh as blood pumps steadily in and out of her heart, extending in tiny, intricate streams to every vein and vessel in her body. 

It was one of the many skills that had helped him locate precisely where her pleasure points were whenever they'd made love. He always found them without her needing to say a word. No matter how many times they'd wiped his mind, they couldn't destroy those basic, primal instincts of his, and probably hadn't tried she assumed, since they'd also been so useful in proving him deadly. 

_Damn it, Nat, it's been years since you've been to bed with the guy, so can you please concentrate now?!_

That's right, what's done is done. Too emotional and way too messy. There are far more pressing matters at hand, and right now she just needs to save the guy's life. 

Or maybe more so, to save his mind and soul....even if it means having to kill him herself. 

_Shit!_ She can tell by the calculated way he's moving that he knows he's being watched. She rolls her eyes at her own stupidity. Well, of course, he does. He knows it tonight just like she's certain he'd known the other times; at the street fair market. In the parking facility and at the movie theater. Nat's as stealthy a spy as the KGB has ever produced, but her subject this time is one who's well known to be formidable. An enigma. A myth to most and a nightmare to others. And he'd been almost impossible to find in the first place, so she doesn't want to risk losing him again. 

Another keen irony is how although he'd taught her so much of what she knows, it's still only a fraction of what he knows. The rest of her home-training she'd had to pick up by studying him. Tracing his steps. Watching, learning, with so much patience required. Years of research poured into following a man that she'd once....

Had once _what?_ Admired? Absolutely. Maybe that's what it'd been all this time more than anything. Admiration. Infatuation. Through some of her most hellish past experiences, the sergeant had given her something to live for....to keep reaching for. 

Something tangible to work and strive toward. A goal. A purpose. 

So yes, for those reasons, she had admired him a great deal. Perhaps had even felt some sort of misplaced form of devotion to him. She also knows for certain that she's still in denial about what it had actually been, but refuses to allow herself the chance to explore too many of those frivolous thoughts right now. 

_This is hardly the time for it, damn you._

Deep ocean green eyes peer from the shadows of the hidden alcove again to see that his tall, leanly muscled form has vacated the corridor, but to also note that the apartment door he'd been standing in front of is now wide open....and oddly enough, remains that way for several minutes. 

Drawing a deep breath, she decides to make quick work of closing the short distance to the open door before she can lose her nerve. 

_It's now or never. Move!_

With her gun drawn and cocked, Natasha pushes away from the wall beside the threshold and peaks into the apartment, one green, cat-shaped eye exposed from beneath a silken layer of candy-apple red that spills to her slender shoulders. Her pulse quickens at the sight of his expansive back and width of shoulders covered in deep brown leather, straight dark hair still worn long enough to brush past the collar of his bomber jacket. 

Just the way she'd always preferred it. 

He appears to be removing items from a paper sack, placing each of them on the small dinette table in front of him, before he suddenly stops, lifting his head to look straight at the wall in front of him. 

“Are you going to try to take me in....” he asks, voice smooth as satin, low and steady. He doesn't even turn around to see who he's addressing. No need to. “....or were you sent here to kill me?”

She swallows hard around the lump forming in her throat, and wants to kick herself for the threatening onslaught of emotion. “It's not a mission.” she assures him, but doesn't dare move closer, still standing next to the doorway with her GLOCK aimed directly between his shoulder blades. “I'm here on my own.”

“You expect me to believe that HYDRA hasn't put a bounty on my head, and that the KGB wouldn't send their best agent to help collect it?”

“You'd be foolish if you _didn't_ believe that they're after you. But I don't work for the KGB anymore. I've wasted enough time with false loyalties and loathing the people I was forced to deal with everyday. I found a rare opportunity to get out, so I took it.”

“Well, good for you.” he says sincerely, finally turning around to face her. 

Their eyes meet for the first time in what seems ages and Natasha's heart feels like it drops into the pit of her stomach....the same as it always has at the sight of him. The cleft chin, the familiar angular jawline and impossibly straight nose with the high bridge and slight frown line set between two of the most mesmerizing, deep set points of blue she's ever had the pleasure of gazing into.

And those piercing eyes examine her as well, slipping from the angelic face with the porcelain complexion, traveling downward over the compact, curvaceous yet athletic body clad in black leather and the gun grasped too tightly in her small but deadly hand. 

“Who sent you then?” he asks. 

“I told you, Sarg, I'm here on my own. It's my thing.” she emphasizes, thrusting the barrel of the gun at him. 

“Oh, Natalia....” he scoffs playfully and she can hear the slight Russian lilt in his voice again when he speaks her birth name “....I distinctly remember some of your _things_. Just don't recall this particular kink being one of them, so.....like, could we at least leave the gun-play out of it? Scars are great, but fresh bullet wounds really aren't that much of a turn on for me anymore....”

“Why not?” she smirks back, her voice growing raspy in a way that she's always known has stirred something primitive in him. It was a part of their game. “Do you need to put the mask on first? Because, seriously....I wouldn't mind you wearing it. Anything to help keep your mouth shut long enough for me to explain why I'm here and why I'm even bothering to help you at all.”

“ _Help_ me?” He looks amused, and it instantly irritates her. 

“Yes, although I'm already starting to regret it.”

“Still my fiery little ginger snap.” he cracks another crooked grin at her, “I guess I missed you more than I'd remembered....but it's all starting to come back to me now.” 

“Don't let the fond memories fool you.” she deadpans, not daring to acknowledge his prior request to lower her weapon or her defenses. “Now.....go pack a small bag and then come with me before I change my mind.”

“Nope, sorry, Muffin...” he says, being purposely condescending as he turns his attention back to the items on the table. “....I'm not going anywhere with you. If you remember a goddamn thing about me, you already know that I was born a helluva long time ago from yesterday. Nice try though, I'll give ya that much....”

“And if you remember a goddamn thing about me, you'll know that I don't give up so easily.” she snaps, “Now, go pack, or we can just leave without anything you'd care to take with you. Your choice, but either way, we're going.”

“The only thing we're _going_ to do is to waste a whole lot of time arguing about what happens next with you pointing a gun at me and me continuing to allow it.....while I also cook myself some dinner. I can fix enough for two if you're hungry.” He holds up a bottle of red wine to show her. “Your favorite Merlot. Tempted yet?”

Completely exasperated with him already, Natasha lowers her gun a fraction, face registering a frown of concern, “Are you really that tired of living, James?”

Not even appearing defiant anymore, he nonchalantly studies the label of the wine bottle, “The thing I'm tired of most is running, Natalia. Look, I'm aware that no matter what I do....where I go, they'll eventually locate me, and they're either going to have some way to take me back against my will, or they'll just take me out period. I'm expendable now They've been conditioning others....”

“If you're really so expendable, then why are they still trying to find you after nine months?”

“I'm too much of a risk for them to leave in the wind.” His eyes lock on hers. “They need me either on their side or dead because of what I know....who and what I could expose once enough of it comes back to me.... _if_ it ever comes back at all.”

Still keeping her full attention and weapon trained on him, Natasha lifts one boot to kick the door closed before twisting the lock until it clicks securely in place. “Alright, so talk.”

His eyebrows lift. “And eat?”

“Maybe.”

“Put the gun down.” he tries again. 

“Disarm, and I might consider it.”

His full lips quirking into a slight smile, James eases the jacket from his shoulders and drapes it over the back of the wooden chair closest to him where she can see it clearly. He then unlatches the harness containing the Bren semi-auto from around his torso and lays it over top the jacket. 

“Happy?” he asks Natasha. 

She returns the smile, “Not until you remove that Beretta from the back of your waistband, and unstrap the leg holster carrying your vintage Colt. And while you're at it, take the knife off your left shin and shrug the utility blade out of the sleeve covering that pretty metallic appendage of yours, and then I'll be absolutely ecstatic.”

Outwitted and more than a little amused by it for the first time in years, James Buchanan Barnes, also formerly known as “Bucky” from Brooklyn and HYDRA's prized Winter Soldier, releases a quiet chuckle. “As much as I don't mind stripping down for you, sweetheart.....” he removes his remaining guns and knives, placing them on the chair already containing his leather jacket and body harness, “....could we get something to eat first? I'm really starved.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

********************************************************

 

**Chapter Two**

The Winter Soldier, HYDRA's most valued and highly trained weapon-slash-assassin, the one that has managed to elude a notorious, Nazi-founded criminal organization for the past nine months, ever since his last mission doing only God knows what to God knew who, is seated at the small table opposite Natasha chowing down on a self-made meal of stewed potatoes with carrots and baked chicken like it's his last meal. 

“My mom used to fix this for us back home, and a few days ago it suddenly came back to me how she used to make it, so I couldn't resist.” he'd explained to Nat during the dinner's preparation, which had made her feel a sharp pang of sadness for James Barnes and the somewhat carefree boy he must've been once upon a time.

She wishes that she'd known him then, when those ice blue eyes had sparkled with mischief instead of being shadowed by dark circles that showed a prolonged weariness of carrying the weight of the world.

Not that his unique burdens seem evident for the time being. True enough, the man's appetite had always been a thing of legend whenever she'd witnessed it during their brief interludes between his 'conditioning', but it still surprises Natasha a bit that he's even able to eat and digest a full meal normally given the imminent threat of HYDRA and the Russians zeroing in on him. Of course, it could just be that she's the oddball here for worrying too much to savor a deliciously aromatic meal, but decreasing her appetite even more is her ire that James doesn't seem the slightest bit concerned. Almost like he's already given up, resigned to his fate....whatever it may be, capture or death.

“So, tell me. Are you suicidal now? Is that what this is?” She fires at him with a glare. 

He stops eating to glare back at her, “Jeez, is the chicken _that_ bad?” 

A joke, of course. Very typical of his usual means of avoidance. But Nat doesn't budge or let it distract her, “I'm serious, and I wish you'd drop the act and be straight with me. I can see right through it, y'know, so deflecting, even via lame jokes is a huge waste of time....”

She notes how his large right hand suddenly flexes around the wine glass, so much that she expects it to shatter and draw blood from between his fingers. 

Looks like she'd gotten her point across to him, and that pleases her for the time being. 

“You're really not the best dinner conversationalist,” he frowns back, “have I ever told you that?”

“Probably so, especially when I used to insist on discussing embarrassing lady things....”

His lips purse into a little a grin, “Yeah, I remember some of those colorful chats.”

“.....but I'm not going to change,” she concludes, “...so you may as well just save yourself an ounce of grief wherever you can and give me an answer.”

He nods, smile fading, “That's good. Don't change, ever. It helps me remember all of those special things about you.”

 _You mean the things about me that you once loved, James?_ And she can't resist, so feeling even more like an idiotic teenager, just has to ask, “What things?”

“All of them. Your resilience. Your stubbornness....and determination. Everything....from the way we used to laugh and talk and open up to each other, to how tenderly you used to touch me.....” his gaze fastens onto hers across the menagerie of plates, glasses, serving dishes and weapons strewn across the dinette table. “I'd forgotten what it felt like to be handled gently....when I didn't even think I deserved it anymore. I still don't....” He can see that she wants to object to his last thought, and waves it off, “No, really....it's okay....”

“It's not okay for anybody to feel that way unless they're innately brutal and deserving of such guilt...” she tells him “....and you're far from that, James. That's why I'm here. If I didn't think there was any hope for you, I wouldn't have come.”

He smiles again then, but it's not one of happiness. More an expression torn between bitterness and gratitude that she still thinks he's worth saving, even if he believes her that her faith in him is misplaced....her attempt futile. 

“And if I leave here with you tonight, _then_ what?” he asks softly. 

Natasha perks up in her seat a bit, heart fluttering with a tiny glimmer of hope that she's afraid to feel, but can't for the life of her will to waver. “We cross the border into the states. HYDRA sent you out with a fake passport, so we just falsify it again. It's not a big deal. I know some people near the border of Toronto who can do it and have it cleared by the feds within a few hours....some of Nick's people....”

“ _Nick Fury_.” James says, his voice adapting a slight monotone that sends chills down Nat's spine. 

She studies his eyes closely, sees the vagueness lurking there just beneath the surface of liquid crystal blue. The same look of his that has frightened her in the past. “Yes.” she says firmly, hoping that continuing to talk will distract his mind from whatever thought is trying to enter it, “The name seems familiar to you. I'm sure he's probably on a few of HYDRA's hit lists.”

“Yeah....very likely.” He blinks a couple of times, slowly, almost visibly shrugging off a distant memory that he'd rather ignore before downing the rest of his serving of red wine. He immediately pours another then gestures to refill Natasha's glass. She declines with a slight shake of her head, so he places the bottle on the table between them again. “Probably best if I avoid meeting Mr. Fury just yet.”

“You don't have to meet him for him to help us. He trusts me. He's a very close friend of mine and.....”

“How close?” Straight dark brows quirk at her. “You mean, like a lover?”

A streak of aggravation spikes sharply up Nat's spine and she stares him down. “I mean, like a _father_ , if it's any of your damn business.”

Her obvious anger doesn't faze him. He stares back, “Well, unlike yourself, I've lost a lot of time between our dalliances, so yeah, I still sort of feel like it's my business even if you don't....”

She rolls her eyes, “I didn't really mean that it's absolutely not any of your business either, James. I'm just letting you know that you can chill out about it.”

“Chill out?" he emits a short laugh, "Oh, _that's_ cute...a cryo-joke....”

“I didn't mean it that way.”

“And is that what you tell people about me, too? That I'm a mentor to you....like a father?”

“I don't see you that way at all, because that would be pretty damn twisted, wouldn't it?” She takes a hard swallow of her wine and then slams the glass back down on the table, a bit surprised that it doesn't break, “So no, I don't think of you as a “father”! Besides, you're hardly old enough....”

“Like hell! I'm old enough to be your grandfather, and probably this Nick Fury guy's dad.....” 

“Well, you don't _look_ like it so...my God, can you just shut up about this?”

He shakes his head at her extremely ticked off expression, with a little smile beginning to form, “...okay, so maybe he is more of a father figure to you.”

“Damn you, Barnes, don't be such an ass.” she finally smirks, because she's always had a hard time staying mad at him. Picking up her wine glass again, she begins twirling it in her hand, moving the deep red liquid in a hypnotic circular motion as her eyes meet his again, “I used to like you, y'know?” And it pleases her to see, as a response, even the tiniest hint of mischievous sparkle in those beautiful blue pools studying her from across the table. 

“You'll like me again, if I have anything to do with it.” he promises. 

Or maybe it's more of a warning, Natasha considers. 

Either way, there's a slightly strange but comfortable silence that falls between them as their gazes hold onto each other's. Two hearts thumping a little too rapidly in the small apartment's quiet living quarters, and Bucky can hear both of them. 

And this is where we always end up....somehow. 

Natasha's expression returns to the one she uses for the job, all business, “Does that mean you'll leave here with me? Let me help you?”

“It means that I'll probably end up running anyway, so why not do it with a trustworthy partner?” Bucky gives in with a nod. “Besides, two heads are better than one....four eyes can see more than two.....and extra weapons in an extra pair of skilled hands can't hurt either. At least that's always been my experience in combat.”

“So, we're comrades now?”

Another nod. “Yep. Again....and always, Natalia. But that's the story of our lives, isn't it?”

“Pretty much, yeah. I guess that's why it just feels right to me for some reason.”

“In a perfect world, we'd always be allowed to do whatever feels right. If only.....” He pauses to watch her for a moment—traces of memories long gone flitting through his mind like an old silent film—before polishing off his second glass of wine. 

“What made you decide to trust me?” Nat asks softly, suddenly unable to meet his gaze....almost fearing what she'll find there. 

“The one thing I remember most about you is how you don't lie to me, and never have. No matter what, even if the answer's a painful one, you've always been honest when I ask it of you. You assured me that you don't work for the KGB anymore, and I believe you. I don't see that conflict there inside you now....that internal struggle. The self-hatred. And believe me, I know all about it....”

“That's why you'd settled here and decided not to run and hide anymore.” she concludes, even more saddened by his apparent resignation. “You were just going to let them take you.”

He doesn't admit it, but he doesn't have to. Not verbally. Not to the one person who probably knows more about him than he can even remember himself. 

Bucky draws a deep breath and releases it, eyes lifting to meet hers again. “You're not wrong. But sometimes it helps knowing that you've got something left to fight for.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

*****************************************************

**Chapter Three**

 

_“Sergeant Barnes, we've accomplished a great deal over the years—some accomplishments of which you were already aware—but thanks in part to your own government's neglect, we have finally mastered the art of complete control. Have been allowed to seize the ultimate power of it...and now we hold that power over you. You no longer have the freedom of your own will or your own choices. You are forgotten by your so-called civilized society, lost to mankind, no longer human but merely a commodity...a property belonging solely to us. You once served your country, yet that country has forsaken you! You understand that, do you not? How have they repaid you for all of your bravery? For your years of service and loyalty to them? They didn't even bother searching for a body, Sergeant Barnes. And your friend Rogers....the famous Captain America? He never made an attempt to find the corpse of his best lifelong friend. He had every opportunity to save you from this fate, and honestly, one would think and even hope that having been someone who was practically a part of his family....like the brother he'd never had....that he would at least have searched for some remains to give a proper, honorable burial to, yes? Even if only out of respect for a fallen comrade. But no. You were expendable to him. To all of them. Therefore, you should be grateful. You should kneel and kiss the very foundation that HYDRA has been restored upon for saving your pitiful, mortal existence. We have improved you....turned you into a God to be feared and revered by those who've abandoned you. You owe us a great debt for that...a debt which we fully intend to collect.”_

Words like those, the ones that bit and bruised him deep inside his soul and had been repeated and drilled into his head over and again for so many years, often return to haunt him. At random times, it doesn't matter when. Day or night. Whether in dreams, in the midst of a crowded street or as he sits alone in his apartment just listening to the sounds of people, of everyday life carrying on all around him. Normal lives that have absolutely nothing to do with him or his constant torment...

The young couple in 24G whose newborn cries every four hours like clockwork for a change and feeding. The old lady in 12F below him, watching her daily soaps on television and then talking on the phone to her sister Margaret for about an hour while she prepares dinner for a grown son who visits every evening after he leaves his job at the bike shop. 

Sometimes he hears the pretty girl who lives in 8G down the hall crying because her boyfriend's been an abusive, cheating asshole again. Hasn't heard her for the past few days, however. Not since said asshole had encountered a big, metal-armed, masked assailant in the alley outside the bar he works in and gotten roughed up enough to scare the piss out of him. Literally.

The morning after the mysterious assault, Mr. Boyfriend had opened his own apartment door, 15B, to a large-sized package of adult diapers in the corridor with a note attached: _"Might want to wear one of these the next time you decide it's alright to beat on your girlfriend, you cowardly piece of shit. Sincerely -Your New Worst Nightmare"_

But the poor girl is one of those who has always been kind to Bucky, even when he'd first started living in the complex, still suffering from extreme paranoia and uncertainty about his new neighbors and surroundings. She's one of the few who actually talks to him like he's just any regular guy. He thinks she might even have a little bit of a crush on him. 

He'll be certain to remind himself to _not_ brag to Natalia about that though. 

_Natalia._ She's been on some laptop contraption she'd fetched from her car for the past couple of hours, logging in and out of various sites and on her cellphone making calls that Bucky's been too distracted to get the full gist of, even having been able to hear both sides of a few brief conversations. She's barely spoken a word to him, so busy making all these plans necessary for their departure at dusk. 

She still thinks she can save him, bless her heart. But she's never been one to give up. 

Bucky did pack a bag like she'd suggested, including a few blades, a couple more untraceable guns, extra ammo and some other tactical gear that he wouldn't want to leave home without, along with the notes he's been keeping. Just little doodles and scribbles about this random thing or that. Some odds and ends he hopes like hell he can hold onto after months of struggling to remember them. In the bag's side compartment is also a picture of the little girl Abigail from apartment 17C, because she'd given it to him for helping her find her lost puppy Turbo a couple months ago. She just turned six on the 4th of July. She's a cute kid, tiny and thin and pale with big, sad blue eyes and silky blonde hair, just like another kid that Bucky had known so many years ago. 

“Why didn't you tell me you were working for S.H.I.E.L.D?”

The question doesn't surprise Natasha. In fact, she'd expected him to ask sooner, given that he's likely been aware of everything she's doing while casually cleaning and packing his weapons. 

She looks up from the laptop that's parked on the dinette table in place of the portion of baked chicken she'd finally managed to finish. “You didn't ask.”

He tries to keep his expression neutral. “So...you work with _him_ then?”

“Who?”

“You _know_ who.” Bucky tightens the Velcro fasteners on his bag and tosses it aside before settling against the back of the sofa, head resting there, eyes lifting to focus on the ceiling, counting those crazy little swirls in the paint instead of looking at her. “How's he doing anyway?”

Natasha shrugs, tapping her ink pen on the laptop while she studies his reclined form. “It's hard to tell....he's not exactly the most open person I've ever met....which is one of the things that helps me relate to him, honestly.” Her lips bend into a subtle smile, “Kind of reminds me of this other old guy I once knew.”

His eyes blink slowly, and Nat can't tell if it's from weariness or sadness. Or both. 

“Yeah?” he mumbles, “Must be a Brooklyn thing.” 

“Maybe. Or maybe it's just an old guy thing.”

He's too distracted to respond to the smart-assed joke. “Is it true what they'd said about him?”

“Probably depends on who's doing the saying...” and she knows damn well what he's referring to, but she'd really love to be able to steer around this one. 

It's going to hurt. 

“HYDRA.” he answers pointedly, without hesitation. He slowly eases up to look at her, eyes piercing. Demanding. Pleading. “They say he dipped a plane into the Arctic to keep it from crashing into New York City....got chipped out of the ice just last year....the same guy he was in '45. Is all that true?”

“I guess so.”

“You never just guess....”

“Okay, as far as I know, yes, that's pretty accurate.” She stares him down again, determined to meet and hold his gaze for as long as she can manage. He'll see anything less as a sign of weakness. A crack in the armor. He always has. “Look, James, what do you expect me to say? What do you want from me?”

“Only the truth, same as always. Just because it involves Steve now doesn't mean that should change anyth....” his statement falters and trails off as realization dawns on his expression. “You really like him, huh? You've developed some loyalty there.”

She doesn't answer. Her eyes drift back to the computer screen, half afraid that he'll read them the irritating way he's always been able to. 

And Bucky doesn't need her to. “Hey, it's okay...” he nods, “...I mean, it's great even. I'm glad he's got somebody trustworthy watching his back. Steve deserves that kind of loyalty. Especially if he's the same guy he used to be....”

“It's not that I don't think he'd be able to trust you, too, James. Like I said before, that's one of the reasons I'm here.”

“Yeah, I know. But it's best if I only have the little bit of info they originally gave me....” he leans back again, “That's why I haven't bothered digging for anything else about him, even being curious as hell. Just in case they get to me again. Not that I'd ever say anything if I'm aware of it, y'know....but they've got some pretty kickass interrogation drugs.”

And there it goes again, Natasha's heart. The dull ache inside it reminding her that it can still feel. Maybe too much. 

She looks up from the laptop, even though she's only been staring at a blue Windows screen filled with icons for the past fifteen seconds or so. “He's the quiet type for the most part....has this stoic kind of strength about him. He can be really sarcastic too though....says some pretty funny shit once in a while, so yeah, there's a wicked sense of humor buried inside that tough exterior.....”

Bucky smiles a little, eyes registering the slightest hint of warmth as they meet hers again. “Thanks.” His jaw flexes visibly, eradicating the softness that had briefly taken over his expression as he points at her laptop. “So, update? We all set on that departure yet?”

Natasha gives him a nod, sighing, “Your passport's ready. We'll be flying over the northeastern border into the states about ten hours from now. There's a safe house in Long Island.”

“Hm....and what am I supposed to do there?”

“Same thing you were doing here. Blend in, keep a low profile. Most importantly, stay alive.” she drags a finger across her now clean dinner plate and places the tip of it into her mouth. “ _Mmmm_....and try hard to remember some more of your mother's recipes while you're at it. I'll make sure the safe house's kitchen is fully stocked. If you need a job, maybe we can eventually land you one of those cooking show gigs, like Emeril. You can wear a burlap bag with eye holes cut out over your head to conceal your identity from the cable-viewing public....be called the _Unknown Chef_ or something....”

The expression he gives her next is one of genuine confusion that causes the right side of his mouth to lift slightly higher than the left. “What the hell is an Emeril?”

Natasha Romanoff actually giggles for the first time in years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

*******************************************************

**Chapter Four**

 

The idea of leaving Quebec City is harder for Bucky than he'd imagined it would be when the time came to go. Upside of it? At least he won't be leaving in the back of an unmarked, armored van or a body bag. 

Not this time anyway. 

He thought about the people and places he'd be leaving behind. The kind of things he hadn't given much thought to since he'd departed Brooklyn for basic training back in 1942. He hadn't lived in any other place that he could truly consider “home” since then. 

Or maybe that wasn't _exactly_ the case.

The only other place apart from Brooklyn and his current residence that could've been considered any kind of home at all to Bucky was Moscow and the time he'd spent there in captivity with a sweet, scared little redhead who'd already been battle-weary by the age of eighteen and forced into submission by her cruel handlers and unwarranted circumstances. He'd trained her in hand-to-hand combat, had given her a whole lot of hell about the weakness of her upper body and instructed her to put the amazing strength in her legs to good use. He'd also secretly admired and openly praised her after she'd finally conquered the feat of running up his body like it was a staircase then face-planting him on the floor by locking her knees around his neck and shoulders, putting the full force of her five-foot-three, one-hundred and eight pound frame into performing a stunt worthy of any athlete. 

A deadly athlete. Not exactly what the sports world needed, but definitely what the KGB was aiming for. 

Bucky had spent the better part of a year with Natalia “officially” before they'd _unofficially_ managed to meet up here and there for the next few, often stealing moments to be together. Usually between missions. 

One of those times was even during a mission. One of his. Yes, Natalia Romanova had become the only woman to bed the Winter Soldier. Not Bucky Barnes, but the assassin he'd been turned into. Didn't really happen in a bed either as he could recall....but up against the wall in a hotel suite after they'd grappled and tossed each other around, completely trashing the place. They'd taken rough foreplay to a whole new level.

Jesus Christ....she'd actually had sex with him while he was in _that_ state? 

“The fuck were you even _thinking?_ ” he hears himself ask out loud. 

Brushing deep red locks away from her forehead and face, Natasha shoots a puzzled, brow-raised glare at him over the shiny black top of the Lexus IS 350 they've been packing with his 'stuff'. 

“ _Excuse me?_ ” she asks.

“Never mind.” Bucky mumbles, shaking the memory from his mind with an impatient sigh. 

She gestures to the car's back seat. “Isn't that the best place for the bag?”

“I _said_ never mind.”

She shrugs, “Hell, I just thought you'd like to keep it handy....you know, in case we draw any unwanted attention along the way. We don't have to worry about border patrol though because Nick's already taken care of it.”

“That's fantastic, and do you _not_ know what never mind means?”

“You sure are a peculiar one, Barnes.” she says, teasingly batting her eyes at him. “Hey, guess what he set our cover up as?”

“Indulge me.” he deadpans.

“I'm a princess meeting with diplomats at the Austrian Embassy in DC and you're my personal security. So you'll need to drive after we pick up your fake license with the passport. Oh, you _do_ still remember how to drive, don't you? Or is this car too modern? I don't think S.H.I.E.L.D has any Model-Ts or Studebakers in storage.”

Bucky rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “Good God, I'd forgotten what a smartass you are. And _honestly?_ I don't remember missing that part of you so much either.”

“Just because you don't remember it yet, doesn't make it untrue.” Nat winks before ducking into the car to slide in place behind the steering wheel. Reaching across to push open the passenger door, she chides, “C'mon, chop-chop, Gramps. Let's blow this town.” Through the windshield her eyes suddenly catch sight of a pretty young woman with long, dark hair standing at the apartment complex's exit, waving to Bucky. “Uh oh...looks like one of your admirers wants to bid you farewell....”

Bucky turns around to see the once miserable girlfriend from apartment 8G, the same one who'd been dating the asshole in 15B. He gives her a little smile and wave, and when that doesn't seem to suffice, he walks over to where she's standing. “Hey...um...hi...”

“Cynthia.” she says, dark head bowing shyly. 

“Right.... _Cynthia_. I'm Bucky, by the way.”

“That's a nice name....I like that, Bucky.” she tells him, big dark eyes rising to meet his, blushing slightly under his steady gaze. “We've talked before, but never really got the chance to formally introduce ourselves. And now it looks like you're leaving....”

“Um, yeah. It was pretty sudden....you know....unexpected.” he explains, without really divulging anything. 

“Yeah, unexpected...and unfortunate...for _me_....”

Bucky doesn't really know what to say to that. So he rambles instead, “I left next month's rent in the building manager's office....y'know, since I'm moving without notice. Left some cash for hauling the rest of my stuff out in case they wanna do that....or um, y'know..... _you're_ welcome to take whatever you want out of there if you find something you like, Cynthia.”

Her expression is sad, “Sounds like you're not planning on ever coming back, huh?”

Releasing a slow, regretful sigh, Bucky responds as honestly as he can, “Uh, no. Probably not.” 

“Well, in that case.....” Cynthia reaches for his gloved left hand “... _may I?_ ”

A bit hesitantly, Bucky allows her to take his cybernetic hand into hers, and even through the leather glove, is amazed by how tenderly she clasps it. He instinctively starts to pull away when she gingerly eases the wrist of the glove back to reveal the shining silver plates beneath it. 

Cynthia's dark eyes study the smooth metal and she gently strokes it with her fingertips as her gaze meets his again. “Neal's moving out of the building this coming Friday and he said that he hopes I have a nice life, but it's probably best if we stay on separate paths from now on.”

Even though that's great news as far as Bucky's concerned, he can't tell if she feels the same. “Oh, yeah?” he asks, looking slightly concerned. 

“Yeah,” she nods, her pretty face suddenly brightening with a wide smile. “So....um, Bucky, I just want to thank you....for _everything_.” she adds knowingly. Her eyes move to the Lexus at the curb behind him, where Natasha patiently waits behind the wheel. “She's a lucky girl. _Very_ lucky....to have a beautiful, chivalrous guy like you. Take care of each other, okay?” 

And he doesn't bother correcting Cynthia...to tell her that “Natalia” belongs to no one. Just nods his head, his heart pounding a little bit faster than he wants it to. 

She's certainly a gorgeous girl, his very soon-to-be former neighbor. Bucky thinks....maybe in another time. Another place. Or maybe if he was another man entirely. 

Maybe if he was a man like Steve Rogers. 

Still holding onto his left hand, Cynthia places her right tenderly against the side of Bucky's face, coaxing him to lower his head enough for her to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Good-bye, Bucky.”

“Bye, Cynthia. You take care.” 

After watching the girl walk back into the complex and vanish from sight through the entrance doors and lobby, Bucky heads for the Lexus where Natasha starts in on him the moment he slips into the passenger seat and closes the door. 

“Aww, how _sweet_....”

“Just....” he shakes his head in frustration as he fastens the seat belt “....shut up and go, okay?”

Her nose crinkles as she shifts the car into gear, easing away from the curb, “No, _seriously_....that was just so damn cute. Is that the one whose boyfriend you beat up in that alley last week?”

“Fucking spies.” He mutters, looking out of the passenger side window. 

“Hey, I learned from the best.” Nat grins. 

“I did not teach you _that_.”

“Who said I was even talking about you?” she gives him a good-natured ribbing as she floors the accelerator, “Wow, _somebody_ certainly has an awfully self-inflated opinion of himself.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

******************************************************************

**Chapter Five**

 

“So, I actually spend a lot of my time just jotting down and sketching random stuff I've been remembering in all those notebooks that I keep with me.” Bucky explains, summing up most of what he'd been occupying himself doing in Quebec for the past several months. 

Natasha has been genuinely enjoying their travel conversation so far; about everything from food to current events. It hasn't been continuous chatter, no, but even the silences that fall in between are warm and comfy sections of time where they'll both finally stop to listen to certain songs playing on the radio or to take in a bit of the beautiful Canadian scenery as the first hints of sunlight begin to peek through the clouds. 

She doesn't have an easy rapport with very many people. Spies learn to be quiet and not attract attention for the most part unless they're lying to set up a cover or to spin a certain scenario for a mission. But, oddly enough, the ease of talking to the sergeant has always been second nature to Nat. Well, it has been since she'd gotten over her initial intimidation of him as a mentor and trainer, particularly once she'd realized that he was actually on her side and just as disapproving of the conditions of and reasons for her capture as she was herself. He also understood what it meant to be programmed to obey orders, having suffered decade upon decade of his own cruel “conditioning”.

Over the years Nat's managed to encourage tiny snippets, little bits and pieces of Barnes' tortured past in captivity from him. And there are just as many other parts, she can only assume, that she probably doesn't want to know about because it would only shred away even more pieces of her heart. Sometimes it seems bizarre as well as natural to her how their relationship had developed and progressed, igniting like dried foliage under the flame of a blowtorch, especially while within the confines of The Red Room. The meaningful gazes whenever their eyes connected, the close physical contact while sparring. The touches, at first fleeting and barely noticed by their handlers, and then gradually once more privacy was trusted between them, lingering with the pressure of muscles straining inside damp flesh and the heat of tangled limbs. She can remember how it was, feeling the solid weight of his body pressed against hers, pinning her to the mat...leaving her all sweaty and breathless, and how sometimes, even though Nat knew that the objective was to escape, to get him off her, she didn't try nearly as hard as she should've because she wanted more than anything to remain clasped to him no matter how aggressive and unwelcome the moment was _supposed_ to be. 

Just to be that physically close to him was intoxicating. 

Her mentor....secret friend and ally. The strong and confident lion of a man with wild dark hair and liquid blue eyes that some knew only as The Winter Soldier. But to Natasha he was simply James. 

_Her James_. 

She shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat while waiting for a traffic light to change, trying her best to remain focused on the current subject of conversation. 

“So, you've just been writing? Nothing else? No internet....no TV?” she asks, barely able to believe her ears, because she feels like she'd probably die of boredom sometimes without her reality shows, as well as the occasional home-shopping network spree. “I don't know how you do it, but I gotta hand it to you....that's some major discipline. We're definitely having a movie night after I get you set up at the safe house. You don't know what you've been missing.”

“Oh, but I had a television. You saw it, right?”

Natasha smiles, “If you're talking about that ancient little box in your bedroom on top of the dresser, yes, I did. Have to confess that I wasn't very impressed though. Did it even have color?”

“Yes, Nat, it had color.” Bucky gives a small grin in return, the corners of his eyes showing slight crinkles as they turn toward the car's passenger window to watch the fading city lights begin to stream by again as the car picks up speed. “I've been a prisoner, not a caveman.”

“It's just....I guess I'll need to question your methods of survival from now on, shunning technology the way you have. I just don't get it. Not in this day and age when it's so available and such an everyday part of life.”

“Most lives, maybe. But you don't miss what you've never had.” Bucky reminds. “We're creatures of habit by nature. You break or change the habits, and you realize how easily you can survive without most of the things you once thought were necessary.”

“Well, it's not a matter of knowing I that _can_ live without them,” Natasha rebuffs, “because I already know I can still draw the breath of life without _American Idol_ or _The Bachelor_ , but what about doing things because you genuinely enjoy them? _Huh?_ I mean, since you escaped, have you actually done anything just because you like doing it? Anything you just enjoy?” She casts a sideways glance at him with one brow raised, “Or _anybody?_ ”

Bucky actually pouts. “Goddamn it, Natalia....would you give that a rest already?”

“No, I'm serious. I mean, it's alright if there was somebody you were enjoying, James. You're human after all, and that little neighbor friend of yours was a hottie. Looked like she was totally into you, too.”

“It wasn't anything serious.” His eyes leave the window just long enough to glance at Natasha's profile and read the sincerity of her expression. “We talked once in a while, and that's it. Not even an exchange of names and numbers. She was just....”

“Just what?”

“ _Nice_. She was really nice to me without even having a reason to be, y'know? No ulterior motives. I was this stranger who'd just moved into the building and she didn't know me from Adam, but she was still so nice...treated me like an actual person at a time when I hadn't even remembered how to be one yet. It meant a lot.”

“I guess it would.” Natasha feels a stab of something dangerously akin to jealousy. Not that she ever wants to admit it to herself. Let alone to Bucky. “So you're sure you never invited her up to your place to feed her some of your mom's special recipes?”

“Nope.” Bucky displays the familiar, crooked grin again, “That's strictly reserved for the girls who stalk and then hold me at gunpoint.”

“Sorry about all that. I just had to be sure.”

“You mean you had to be sure that I wasn't still carrying around traces of _him?_ ”

Natasha doesn't answer at first, but she knows perfectly well who he's referring to. 

Him. The _other_ him....the deadly one. The one who's quick on the trigger without any regard for human life or collateral damage. The one who appears when there's something or someone that HYDRA wants dealt with swiftly and permanently. It makes her blood run cold to think of James that way, and she _can't_....doesn't want to answer because there's way too much that she could tell him, and the very last thing she wants is to ignite a single spark to certain memories she believes he's better off not recalling. 

Especially the one from their last encounter.....

Near Odessa. 

They'd both been on missions then and that's all it was, she tells herself. _Business_. It's just that at that particular time, their missions had been opposing ones. 

She suddenly feels extremely uneasy underneath the weight and intensity of his gaze, like he's reading her...the way he's so goddamned good at doing. So she keeps her eyes trained forward and on the road. 

“What?” she asks after a minute or two when she finally can't take it anymore, almost feeling a physical heat from his stare burning through her profile. 

“I've just been reminded of something I started to ask you about before.” he says, eyes unwavering. 

_Fuck!_ Natasha tries to keep the deep breath she takes next from being too obvious. “So ask.”

“That hotel in Amsterdam a few years back.” he says, his tone low and menacing. “What the hell was _that_ all about?” 

Oh, holy shit, she thinks....her mind beginning to race. There's no wriggling her way out of this one. 

Amsterdam, March of 2008, more than a year prior to the incident outside Odessa. A car bombing. Prime Minister Lindeman and two of her highest ranked staff were killed when their SUV exploded during the very early morning hours of the fourth. Natasha knew who it'd been due to the type of mechanism used in the blast. _His_ signature. Also signature was the fatal shooting of a coffee house owner, forty-seven year old Erwin Reust, likely the only witness as he'd have been opening for business at approximately the time when the bomber would've been in the area. An on-site ballistics investigation uncovered an untraceable Russian-issued 9. milometer that had been discarded in an alley near the scene of both crimes. 

Natasha, working alone, was the one who'd traced him to the Crowne Plaza and confirmed his reservation under the name Isaak Keller, after charming the manager into believing that she was there to surprise her lovesick fiance who was in town on business from Berlin one last time before their wedding night. 

The rest of the evening had taken a very dangerous yet extremely unexpected turn. 

“Scratching an itch.” she states defiantly, not bothering with excuses that she already knows will be rendered useless in seconds when he slices through them all. 

Doesn't mean that she can't regret saying it the minute it leaves her lips. 

“An _itch?_ ” he scowls, eyes narrowing, “What the hell, Nat? I can think of a few terms for what _that_ was, and itches don't have a goddamn thing to do with any of them! Careless? Sure. Idiotic? _Definitely!_ Not to mention stupid...and reckless. Suicidal... _insane_.....”

“Oh, my God, _alright_ already!”

“ _No!_ You don't get to shrug this one off, goddamn it! It wouldn't piss me off so much if I didn't give a damn about you, but I'm telling you right now, you need to avoid _him_ like the fucking plague from now on, you got that?”

“I know him better than anyone else does...”

“I don't give a flying fuck about that. You still need to keep your distance!”

“I won't have to, okay?” she snaps, her own tone taking on as much of an edge as his. “ _He's_ not coming back, James! This is a brand new beginning, so why don't you try having at least a little bit of faith in me?”

He stops himself short of responding again, doesn't want to do so in anger, nor does he really want to argue with Natasha. His heart aches to see the expression on her face now because she looks hurt, and that's the last thing he wants to see. The last thing he ever wants to be the cause of. 

Drawing a deep breath of his own, Bucky's voice is calm again. Filled with warmth and care when he speaks, “It's not that I don't have faith in you, angel...really. I mean that.”

She swallows her emotion and covers it up for the time being. “Then what is it?”

“It's because of how well I know _them_....and the way they operate. What to expect....” 

Natasha takes an opportunity to meet his gaze when they stop at the next traffic signal. Sees the sincere worry there. The fear. It scares her, too. “Sounds like you're aware of something more specific that's going on. Care to share it?”

"It's all so spotty....I can't be sure of anything yet....." he beings, then looks away from her again, his sharp blue eyes riveting to the windshield as he continues, “They started keeping me under for longer periods of time between missions, and I could tell they were being extra careful in their handling of the information they _did_ have to give me. Like there was so more on the horizon that they didn't want me knowing about. But from the little bits that I am starting to remember and piece together over the past few months...they're planning something really _big_...some scheme involving a whole lot of new connections. The stem of corruption that's been festering inside HYDRA for all these years is starting to branch out into some insanely high places, Natalia, and it's so much more than any of us have ever been aware of before. They're gaining strength again, and their poison is spreading fast. We need to be ready.....”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending out a special thank you to everyone who's reading this. You're making little ole me feel so honored! Just as a warning, in case it's needed, situations are bound to get pretty angsty in this piece of fiction, because I thrive on drama. Not in my life though. I'd much rather write it instead. So when I write extreme drama, my own feels so moderate in comparison. It's a survival technique. :)
> 
> Again, thanks for reading....and please feel free to comment. I promise, I only bite if I'm asked to. :P


	6. Chapter 6

**********************************************

**Chapter Six**

 

They decide on a rest and gasoline stop, _and_ a driver change—Bucky insisting on the latter, thanks in part to her wisecrack about him and vintage cars—around 30 miles outside Montreal and still an hour and a half from Kronos-Price Corp., where they'll meet up with Logan Benning, a longtime associate of Fury's, who also happens to be a trusted fellow agent and friend of Natasha's. 

She and Logan might've even sort of casually dated once upon a blue moon, but she thinks it's probably a good idea to forego updating her traveling partner with all of the gritty details about that just yet. 

After freshening up as best she can inside the tiny ladies' room and filling the Lexus's tank, Nat takes a moment to observe him through the convenience store's large front window. It's still hard to believe that she actually has him with her. _Finally_. After so many months of searching and tracing, followed by weeks of both secretly watching him _and_ watching his back. As much as it amazes her, she might also feel a hint of worry and guilt, too, because what if he'd been doing the right thing before, living quietly in that little apartment in Quebec City on his own? What if he'd been safer there, and her drawing him out of that apparently airtight seclusion had been the wrong action to take....possibly turning him into a moving target again? 

But no, she can't think like that...can't waste precious time focusing on the 'what ifs'. Moving is always best, and it's something they both know from experience. James had given up running and was on the verge of simply surrendering to whatever fate would deliver. At least the safe house is another chance for him to be free for good. It's a new, high-tech structure that Nick has assured is not located on any map, but built in a remote area on a towering hill near Long Island. It's also close enough to the shore to have an open view for miles in every direction. If anyone should attempt to come after him there, they'll be fully aware of it in plenty of time to either make a run for it or take cover and battle it out. Whichever strategy seems to project the best outcome in the heat of the moment. 

And if things gets absolutely _too_ hairy, Nat knows that she can always count on the rest of the team to come to their aid by making a single call. Even to the famous Captain America himself. Won't that be a hell of a shock for poor old Steve though, seeing his deceased pal again after all these years? 

_“Oh, by the way, Cap....that old pal of yours, you know, the one you grew up with in Brooklyn and then fought with in the war? Yeah, well, he's not really dead. Not at all actually. Other than losing an arm and having it replaced with a cybernetic metal limb, he's physically fit and stronger than ever. Of course, he's been trained and programmed for use as a terrorist and assassin for HYDRA, but other than that, he's good. We could sort of use your help evading the people who are trying to kill him right now though, so thanks!”_

Might just be a sneaking suspicion on her part, but Natasha's pretty damn sure that breaking the news to Cap won't play out very well no matter how it's done. So hopefully it never has to come to that. Besides, this is her personal mission, _her_ decision....and something she'd rather do on her own if she can, with as few people involved as possible. Having Nick and Logan in on it, even if only peripherally, is already enough of a risk and not something she'd be willing to do if she didn't absolutely need their help. 

She owes the sergeant a debt, after all. He'd saved her life in the Red Room, so now she wants to save him from HYDRA. To give him the same kind of chance at freedom that Fury had once offered her. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

By instinct, Bucky surveys his surroundings inside the convenience store as he shops for whatever sort of meager morning snacks that one can scrape together in a rest/gas stop during a road trip. He also keeps his attention on the front windows, slyly eyeing Natasha as she stands beside the car, stretching her limbs like she's just taking a break from driving and that he's actually going to let her slide behind the wheel again before they take off. 

_Fat chance_. 

She looks damn good though. Drop dead gorgeous, in fact, her slightly wavy red hair shimmering in the just rising sunlight, spilling away from her face as she uncoils her limbs gracefully as a dancer. The years have always been kind to his “Natalia”, despite the horrors she's both seen and been subject to. He still can't remember all of it, but what little he does recall is enough to make his blood boil. 

What he does remember is a scared, malnourished-looking, petite girl with a red fringe that shadowed her misty green eyes and how she'd gazed wearily at him, as though praying he'd either be her salvation or that the Winter Soldier lurking inside him would just snap her neck and extract her from the constant misery. 

Bucky would do neither. Instead he'd trained the young woman as ordered and had antagonized her just enough to make her want to fight for her very life. He'd been determined to ignite that fire inside that made her appreciate every labored breath she could draw during combat, to consider each one precious and to keep moving forward. To care for herself while despising her captors enough to survive and thrive and prove to them all that she was a stronger person than any of them could ever hope to be. More worthy of greatness. To make them envy her instincts and her intellect, her sharp wit and lethal precision. They wanted her to be a killing machine, but Bucky wanted her to be even _more_ than that. 

He wanted her to be the one they feared most. 

Because he knew precisely what it was like, being feared by those who found some sadistic pleasure from inflicting pain on him. It was a kind of gratification that couldn't be equaled, watching them cower, seeing the terror in their eyes whenever he broke his restraints and stood over them, fully capable and on the verge of retaliating, and then seeing their relief only when he'd been subdued again. But for that moment....for that fleeting and powerful moment, he'd been able to render them absolutely helpless. Having been away from that life, from captivity—if it could've even been considered any kind of _life_ at all—for the past several months had reignited that feeling of power, of gratification. He knew that HYDRA was afraid, fearing what he'd be capable of if he continued successfully evading them. Scared of the vengeance he could seek and how it might fester even more with every single memory he managed to recover.

And Bucky can't lie to himself. Can't deny that sometimes he dreams, and that those dreams are filled with HYDRA and the many faces he's been forced to see. Forced to fear because of the constant agony that had been seared into his brain and even worse, into his heart. He'd love to see them all suffer. To watch them die. Or better yet, to be the deliverer of those very personal and cruel deaths. 

But this time, Natalia has come to save him. And he feels enough for her, cares enough that she still exists in his life after all this time, to at least let her try. 

In a strange twist, an irony, it seems that the determination he'd once encouraged in her could wind up being the catalyst of his own salvation. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The ringtone on her cell chirps the intro of “Line Up” by _Elastica_ from its holder on the dash and Natasha reaches in through the car's now open window to retrieve it. Checking the display, she smiles before hitting the talk button. “Well, if it isn't King Fury. And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just checking in, _Princess_ Ana.” Nick's distinctive voice responds in her ear. “Logan has everything ready for you and your traveling companion at Destination A, so things should move right along once you get there. Hope your “friend” is ready to assume his new identity. Speaking of....did you ever tell me whether or not he's a professional acquaintance, or a personal one? Boyfriend maybe? Not that I'm prying.”

“Careful, you're starting to sound like Stark.” she jokes.

“No reason for insults, Natasha.” he responds to the tease in only the dry way that Nick Fury can. “Is everything else alright so far? No bullet holes? Knife wounds?”

“Not even the need for a band-aid.” She briefly surveys the immediate area all around and then her eyes move back to where Bucky is now standing at the checkout counter inside the store. “How's Destination C coming along?”

“You told me to make sure the kitchen's fully equipped and stocked, so I did. You're welcome. You should also find that all your technological, transportation and communication needs have been considered and met there as well. You're welcome for that, too. As far as the rest of the team knows, you're on a top secret mission in Lebanon. I kept it general. But if you're going to need longer than a few months, we might have to elaborate.”

“I think I can have him settled someplace else safe before then. This is just a transition, Nick. If I need another set-up though, I'll be in touch.”

“Keep in touch even if you _don't_. Oh, and Natasha?”

“Yes?”

“Whoever's gunning for this _friend_ of yours sounds like some really bad business. So in the process of watching his ass, remember to watch your own foremost. You can't keep anybody alive unless you stay that way first.”

“Got it, Papa Bear. Thanks again for everything.”

“De nada, agent. Peace, and out.”

The connection goes dead the moment Bucky pushes through the store's exit doors carrying two cups with plastic lids and a bag that Nat is almost afraid to see the inside of. 

Rounding the rear of the Lexus to make a special, stubborn point of being on the driver's side with her, he hands her the cup from his right hand. “Caffeine....” he holds up the bag, “....protein. Two of life's staples. Or at least they've been mine for the past few months.” 

“Thanks.” Instantly grateful for the coffee, Natasha collects the cup and takes a sip of its steaming contents. She then tries to remove the bag from his hand, “Alright, let's see the damage.”

Unsmiling, Bucky looks down at the key ring still clutched firmly in the hand she's not holding the cup with. “Exchange. _Now_.”

“James....”

“Hey, I'm going to be undercover as your security, right? You said I'll be driving us to the airport, so at least give me a few miles beforehand to get used to the car.”

Relenting, she drops the keys in his gloved left hand. “Oh, alright. _Here_.”

His lips curve into a slow, victorious grin as he continues, “...yeah, because I just don't know a goddamn thing about all these newfangled, modern-day gadgets.....”

“....shush it....”

He hands her the bag of snacks, “....but that's what happens when you spend most of your life out of commission...and in a goddamn freezer. I feel like a fuckin' fish fillet....”

“Oh, my God....how can you even joke about that?” Nat asks incredulously. 

“Because what else am I supposed to do about it, Natalia? Fight? Cry?” He opens the door and slides into the driver's seat, checking out the controls and knobs on the dash as he sips his coffee. “Hm, okay.....got it. Now you don't have to worry about me killing us on the highway. Get in.”

“Wow, James, why so bossy? You're not my teacher anymore.” Taking a peek into the bag, she screws up her nose and frowns, “And what the hell are _these_ supposed to be?” 

He looks at her in disbelief. “They're supposed to be what they are. Protein bars. The breakfast of champions!” Then ducking his head and squinting to study a few more controls on the steering wheel, he boasts, “Ooo...that's some kind of cereal commercial, isn't it? Just can't remember the brand....”

Nat walks around the car to open the passenger door. She tosses the bag of bars onto the back seat and buckles herself in, glaring across at him, “They're called _Wheaties_. Now, giddy-up, Cowboy....and please keep in mind that I'm not at all keen on spending any time inside a Canadian hospital room _or_ jail cell, so try obeying the traffic laws enough to keep us out of both. _Thank_ you.”

Placing his cup in the holder between their seats, Bucky pulls his door shut, fastens the seat belt and jams the key into the car's ignition, turning. 

“I just love it when you order me around like that, Gingersnap.” he says, pressing his foot on the gas hard enough to make the purring engine roar. His face brightens instantly. “ _Aah_....sounds like an old '34 Packard that I used to cruise around all over Brooklyn in.” he winks at Natasha, “This is gonna be fun.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	7. Chapter 7

*********************************************

**Chapter Seven**

 

Natasha actually feels the change in him the closer they get to Destination A. 

_Winter is descending....and it feels like snow in August._

The lighthearted air that had been around him ceases, gradually being replaced by a cloud of unnervingly quiet distrust. And it's not that he doesn't trust _her_ , Nat's perfectly aware of that. It's just that after years of being trained and conditioned to trust no one except his handlers, dealing with unknown people and situations is always extra challenging. 

Nine months is not that long when it comes to learning how to 'wing it' in the free world. It had been difficult enough for Nat after defecting. Even with Fury's assistance, it had taken her time to adjust. To trust even a limited amount of people again. 

And poor James, up to now, he's had to do it all alone. No one to help him. 

She notes the uneasy clench of his jaw as they pull up to the front gate, secured by a guard armed with a Colt-C7 assault rifle. She doesn't need to see her friend's eyes to know precisely how they look behind the dark shades she'd encouraged him to put on. Nervous. Fixed. Determined and ready for anything, yet still fearful....transformed from sparkling blue to hard as steel cerulean slate. Even as Nat maintains her cool while informing the guard that Mr. Benning is expecting them, she's actually keeping most of her attention on the man behind the steering wheel, his gloved hands clutching it so tightly she's seriously concerned about some irreparable damage that might ground them until they can replace the vehicle. 

He's wired tight. Coiled like a viper on the verge of a strike. 

“Easy, Big Fella....” she reminds quietly, using her calm tone of voice like a soothing salve as they wait for the guard to make his call from the bulletproof booth to Logan's staff. “...it's just a formality. We've already been cleared, remember?”

Without even realizing she'd been holding her breath, Natasha finds herself exhaling in relief the moment the young uniformed man gives a nod and waves them through as the gates slide apart. 

“What'd I tell ya?” she reassures. Herself as much as him. 

Bucky doesn't respond. Maneuvering the car through the gate, then cruising along the lot's entryway and easing it into one of the parking spaces designated for VIPs are simply functions that his body is performing by instinct after years....decades of being given and following orders. 

When he shifts the Lexus into park and kills the engine, Nat lightly rests her hand against his right arm. “James, please take the shades off for a minute and look at me.” She doesn't get a response from him, it's almost like he's in a daze. So she tries again, _“Hey...”_

The angular jaw framing his profile flexes again as he reaches up with his leather-clad metal hand to remove the dark glasses, still keeping his eyes forward and trained on the building. “What?”

 _“Look at me.”_ she repeats more pointedly this time, her tone becoming demanding. Maybe even harsh. Because she's talking to a soldier....and also to a prisoner. He's used to the commands of drill sergeants and burly guards. Yes, he's a friend, too, but he's also one who hasn't seen her or been in her presence for years before last night. 

Sadly, he's spent far more time in his life being controlled than he has being a relative, a friend or a lover to anybody.

Finally turning his head, Bucky's gaze meets hers and Natasha keeps her hand pressed firmly on his forearm, feeling the muscles tighten beneath his leather sleeve. “Everything's going to be okay. I've known Logan for a long time, he just wants to help.”

“But what happens if he finds out exactly _who_ he's helping?”

It's a good question. And she's been so deep in her own zone finalizing plans that she hadn't really thought about how James would feel going into all of this virtually blind. Trusting her doesn't seem to be a problem for him. It never has been. 

Trusting the people _she_ trusts, however, is a whole other matter. 

“He won't.” Nat insists. “The only thing he knows about you or even _needs_ to is that you're a friend of mine....and that's enough, alright? Listen, I would never..... _will_ never lead you into a situation that I think might be too much of a risk. Just keep your hand covered and leave the shades on, too, if you want. He's not going to recognize you. Seriously, most of these strictly by-the-book, MI types don't even believe there _is_ such a thing as the Winter Soldier....”

He doesn't say anything else to her. Simply slides the shades into a breast pocket of his jacket, eyes shifting back front and center to study the ivory colored, seven-story structure. “To hell with it. Are there any metal detectors?”

“Yes.” Natasha admits as she opens the passenger door to get out. She slams it shut as he emerges from the driver's side. 

He scoffs indignantly as they start toward the building, “Well, goddamn....and you don't think that might create even a _small_ issue?”

“Won't be any more of an issue for your arm than it is for my GLOCK.” Natasha shrugs.

Bucky throws a look at her, “You're kidding me. You're actually packing? Wow....that's just fucking _terrific_....”

“Oh, shut up." she chides gently, "So are you.”

He doesn't deny it. “How many guards and security staff you estimate we'll have to take out in order to reach wherever this Logan cat is inside there?”

“We're not taking out _anybody_.”

“I wasn't talking about actually _killing_ them, Natalia.” Though he can't blame her at all for jumping to that assumption. 

“Probably around a dozen or maybe slightly more stationed on the ground floor alone. Detectors are located immediately inside all the main entrances,” she informs him as they begin to ascend the several stairs it takes to reach the building's doors. “The only way to avoid them is the guard unit covering the storage and shipping access around back...and those guys are trained to shoot at anything suspicious on sight.” 

“You saying that a couple of ex-assassins dressed in leather that look like they could be concealing almost anything underneath it might be considered a tad suspicious?”

“Maybe a bit.” Natasha cocks a crooked grin at him. “The good news is that since Logan knows we're here, he's probably already dispatched somebody he trusts to meet and escort us upstairs.”

“And the bad news?”

“When the detectors sound off, the security team in there are going to turn into a bunch of real problems _real_ fast. You might wanna try stalling them.”

“Pray tell, any bright ideas on how I might stall a bunch of armed guards that'll wind up with them still being alive and healthy when I get done?”

“Tell 'em a war story....you know, something about how you always set off metal detectors because you're a vet who's had surgeries done to repair battle injuries with rods and pins. Bet they'll probably absolutely dig some heroic, all-American shit like that. Just sayin'...”

“Thanks for the tip.” he responds sarcastically and pulls the outer door open, holding it first for Natasha to enter then walking through behind her. He instantly recognizes the mechanical whir of the security cameras mounted at either side and above them as they zoom in and focus. “How about you? What's gonna be your excuse?” 

His question is answered when the detector on the interior door goes off the second Nat crosses the threshold, and the first thing she does is give the biggest guard, who's stalking forward with his rifle already aimed at her, a disarmingly innocent look. 

_“Hold it right there, ma'am!”_ he warns in a booming tone, “What are you carrying that alerted the detector? You'll need to remove the jacket...but do it slowly and carefully...”

“Oh, honey, if you want to see what set off your buzzer, I'll have to remove quite a _lot_ more than that.” Natasha says, eyes stealth-scanning the lobby and elevators as she raises her arms in mock-surrender. _Damn it!_ At least one of Logan's people should be coming for them by now. “You see, it's a brand new piercing in a _very_ erotic place, and I just forgot to take it out...still getting used to it, y'know?” She doesn't get a chance to finish spinning her tale before spotting another approaching guard who's about to grab Bucky from behind as he sets off the detector again. “Hey, buddy..." she calls out to him, "...that's a real _bad_ idea....”

Her warning comes too late. 

Fully anticipating the guard's next move, Bucky's head snaps back to bash the man right between his eyes, after which he immediately jabs a sharp right elbow to the guy's ribs before twisting to wrap his metal arm around the guard's throat, hauling him up and over his shoulder to crash on the tiles. 

Nat sees the one who'd been ordering her to disarm whirl on his heels, aiming his rifle at Bucky. By instinct she runs halfway up the lobby's stone wall and kicks off into a back flip that lands her hard on the man's shoulders. Forming a sharp arch with her torso, she knocks him over, sending his forehead colliding straight into the floor. And when his partner approaches with weapon also aimed, she drops low and slides several feet. Pinning his shins between hers she rolls to her right which buckles his knees and pitches his body violently forward, launching the firearm from his grasp and through the air. 

After tossing a fourth guard headfirst into the steel barricades framing the metal detectors at the building's entrance, Bucky spins and snatches the airborne M-16 mid flight just in time to level it directly at the face of another security guy who's charging forward to engage in the action. 

The entire scene grinds to a fortunately casualty-free halt with the sudden sound of a single loud hand clap reverberating from the nearby corridor just outside the lobby's elevators. 

_“Bravo!”_ A good-looking young blond man dressed in a navy blue suit, smiles as he saunters into clear view of all the commotion's participants, “I'd recognize that woman anywhere by her fighting style alone!”

Springing from the floor with the grace of an acrobat, Natasha casually pats a few tufts of dust from her jacket sleeve and casts an annoyed glance at the new arrival. “What happened to sending one of your staff down to collect us?”

"Sincerest apologies. It's just that I wanted to give my old friend the royal treatment and come down myself, but I got stuck on a call.” Benning explains, snapping his fingers in a wordless order for the injured guards to pick themselves up off the floor. 

Nat observes with vague disinterest as the big, uniformed men help each other stand, some of them limping away with their prides probably wounded more than anything else, though a couple are physically supporting each other and another couple appear to be out cold as their comrades are trying to revive them. “Well, you sure took your own sweet time." she complains to Logan, "It's a good thing you came when you did though, or things could've gotten a whole helluva lot worse and I don't think you would've enjoyed _that_ show so much.”

“I'd enjoy any show that you're a part of, Sweetheart.” he grins, his gray eyes appreciatively devouring Natasha's athletic curves. “Looking fab as usual, Tash.”

The last security guard on the scene stands transfixed, terror-glazed eyes staring down the barrel of the gun Bucky still has aimed at his nose. Hesitantly, his gaze lifts to meet the deadly, clear blue glare of his would-be killer, watching in stunned disbelief as the man with the long dark hair rapidly begins disassembling the weapon. Within five seconds flat the magazine, charging handle, bolt carrier, bolt and firing pin all clatter to the tiles around their feet. 

“Here you go.” Bucky says in a low and steady, but deadly tone, maintaining eye contact as he hands the now defunct weapon back to the young guard. His glare then shifts to Logan, and the lethal quality of it intensifies. 

Natasha shifts a wide-eyed look from Logan to Bucky and back again. _'Wow...awkward'_ , she thinks, but says aloud, “So, what'd'ya say we go someplace a little more private and a lot less tense....get you boys better acquainted?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	8. Chapter 8

*********************************************

**Chapter Eight**

 

Bucky can't remember the last time he's absolutely hated a person simply for being who they are and not because they're a sadistic handler who seems to get off on inflicting pain, humiliating and torturing him. 

But within the span of the first five minutes he'd spent in the guy's company, he could literally not _stand_ Agent Logan Benning. 

First off was the man's arrogance, which was not only way too obvious but also unfounded and as annoying as all hell. And Bucky's used to dealing with arrogance. After all, he's worked for plenty of powerful men and women before who weren't much more than living, walking bundles of arrogance, so it doesn't necessarily bug him as much if there's something credible to back it up. Even if it's something that had ultimately earned them a bullet to their large brains, because he'd taken out plenty of arrogant assholes like that in the war. Mad medical geniuses, wicked scientists and Nazis hell bent on annihilating entire races of people included. 

As far as Bucky could tell from his brief, but even then still too goddamn long exposure to Benning, the agent had been severely lacking in the 'proof of reason for such arrogance' department. 

Second, the well-dressed bastard's voice had grated on him like rusty nails being dragged repeatedly over raw, exposed nerves....and every single one those nerves had belonged to one extremely irritable James Buchanan Barnes. And then was the dude's smile, which probably bothered Bucky more than anything about him. Just the fact that it existed and occurred too damn often and for no apparent reason at all, other than to aggravate him and flash its disgustingly pearly whites at Natasha.

Which had brought Bucky to the last, but certainly not fucking least, reason he loathed Benning so much. That arrogant, annoying as fuck son of a bitch had made his attraction to Natasha no secret whatsoever. _Particularly_ in front of Bucky. And worse yet, it had appeared, at least to Bucky, that the attraction was mutual. 

_'Natalia, what the ever loving hell is your problem?'_ had kept running incredulously through his mind while observing the two agents together. 

As the black Lexus speeds along Highway 401 headed for Toronto with Bucky still at the helm, Nat tries hard to keep her focus trained on the cell phone so she can finally answer the texts she's gotten from a few people who sound concerned about her. A couple of them are from Steve Rogers, and it makes her feel a little guilty having to keep that fact from Bucky. Especially given how she can feel his curiosity about something bubbling just beneath the surface of outer cool as he drives in silence, complete with the occasional jaw clench and audible sigh that indicate his attempts to calm himself and keep quiet. 

Nat knows precisely what's bothering him, but she's determined not to let _him_ know that. At least not until she's damn good and ready.

“What is it?” she asks nonchalantly after a few lingering minutes of punching responses into her phone, choosing to finally acknowledge the dagger-edged vibes and expressions of distaste that he keeps flashing sideways at her. 

Bucky looks instantly pissed off that she'd caught him. “What are you doing?”

“Texting.” she answers calmly, “Why?”

“It looks stupid. I've seen a lot of people doing that lately and I really don't get it. It's a goddamn phone, for Chrissake. Novel concept, why not just _call_ the people you want to talk to?”

“You couldn't be more ancient if you tried.” she smirks, happily settling into the rhythm of his little mood swings again after years of not having dealt with them. As the rare kind of person who'd felt somewhat comfortably grounded by his grumpiness in the past, she's honestly missed it. 

Punching in the last of her final texts—one to Steve that says _“All's fine, Cap. Planning to take a self-imposed sabbatical when mission's completed. C U soon”_ —she shuts the phone down and slips it into the purse she's now carrying. It's part of her Princess Ana of Austria fashion ensemble, along with a pale beige skirt and suit jacket, a buttery chiffon shell with delicate, gold jewelry and matching pumps. 

She looks across at Bucky, her gaze sliding over his long, svelte form from head to toe. He looks nice. Even _better_ than nice, as a matter of fact, although still a little on the thin, gaunt side given the months he's spent on his own. A few weeks at the safe house with plenty of food within reach will probably take care of that though, Nat thinks. He's wearing his long dark hair sleek and pulled back into a knotted ponytail, and the black Hugo Boss suit is a great fit, even across his wide shoulders. She also likes how the steel gray silk shirt and tie combo accentuate the stormy color in his eyes. She's pleased with herself for having been able to pick out something that he actually liked and then talked him into putting it on, because he'd certainly been resistant at Logan's request to change up his wardrobe for the cover as her bodyguard. 

And Bucky really hadn't made it a secret at all that his initial resistance was only because of who'd first made the suggestion. 

“He's really not that bad a guy, James.” Natasha cocks a brow at her traveling companion and old friend. “You could've at least pretended to not hate him so much.”

“Why bother faking when making my true feelings known had been so much more gratifying?” His face eases into a close-mouthed, half grin, followed by a questioning glance, “So, how many times then?”

“Beg pardon?”

“How many times have you gone out with that grating son of a bitch?” 

There's a slight flare of nostrils to accompany the question that's apparently been bugging him, and Natasha secretly loves that she can still read the subtle little tells of his ire just like there haven't been years of separation between their encounters. 

“A few...and those were about a year ago.” she answers earnestly, green eyes studying him through long dark eyelashes. “So you can drop the jealous boyfriend routine now. You're supposed to be my bodyguard, remember? It's probably not a good idea to start breaking cover already.”

“Bullshit.” His eyes snap back to the road ahead. 

“ _That's_ eloquent.”

“Well, you'll just have to excuse me if I'm not used to all this shit yet, okay?” he bites out, “And yeah, you're right, I couldn't stand the guy....and that's only partly because he was making it pretty damn obvious....and probably mainly for _my_ benefit....that he was checking you out! Every fucking chance he got...every time you'd move, or walk....or talk or fucking _breathe_ his eyes followed you and I just wanted to rip 'em right outta his goddamn, disrespectful face!”

 _“James....”_ she sighs.

" _No_....I mean, how did he know what's going on between us, huh? We could be involved....or even engaged and planning to get married for all he fucking knows, yet that disrespectful fucker was leering at you right in front of me the entire time we were in his office like I wasn't even there! Seriously, he couldn't have possibly known the nature of our relationship....”

“Unless I'd told him.”

Bucky's mouth snaps shut and his eyes shift to Natasha for a quick glance. “Well, did you?”

“I told him you're an old friend that I'm helping get back into the States so you can be reunited with your wife and kids.”

“ _Really?_ You're serious?”

She nods. 

“So, like...he thinks I've already got a wife and kids and shit? _Wow_. What the hell possessed you to dream up a story like that?”

“Why not?” Natasha says. “You have a comfortable domesticity to you...like you could be a husband and father, fixing your mother's secret recipes and baking bread. Your cute little neighbor certainly seemed to think you have potential.”

“Her name's Cynthia," Bucky blinks, "but I think I've already told you that a few dozen times.”

“Fine. _Cynthia_ then....also known as the girl who possibly wouldn't mind being Mrs. Barnes someday.”

He grins again, but this time it's barely disguising more than a hint of bitterness. “And once upon a time I knew this little redhead who used to seem to feel the same way, but whatever. It was a really long time ago.” 

Her heart aches, not only for him. But for the both of them. “James...listen, I'm sorry about Logan. I'm also sorry if you were expecting things to just pick up where they left....”

“It doesn't matter.” he cuts her off, instinctively protecting himself from what she might say if allowed to finish her current train of thought. “Yeah, it's confusing, I admit that. But I'll eventually get there....it's just gonna take some adjustment.” He chances another look at her and sees the sadness there, instantly regretting that he was the one to cause it, “Nat...it's understandable that you've moved on, alright? I mean, what else could you do? For you it's literally been years since we were last together. But for me....with all the time I've lost in between, it just seems a lot more recent than that. So give me a little while to play catch up, okay?” 

She nods to him again. A temporary truce. 

“And I'm sorry I acted like such a bastard back there, too.” he continues. “I'll even apologize to Benning if you want me to...not that I wouldn't rather bite off my own tongue and spit it in his stupid, smug face first....”

Nat emits a small laugh. “There you go...that one of a kind eloquence of yours again.”

He cocks a comical brow at her, “Hey, I didn't think that was so bad myself.” Then his expression goes serious again, “I really mean it though, Natalia. Like you said, he is helping us. Helping _me_. So yeah, I'm willing to apologize.”

“Are you kidding?” Natasha asks just as sincerely, adding, “I wouldn't dream of having you apologize to him. Just because I've gone out with the guy a few times gives him no right to leer at me like some depraved jackass. So, thanks for having my back, partner.”

Bucky's gaze meets hers warmly. “Anytime.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Waiting in silence, dark glasses covering his wary hazel eyes, he hopes that _The Asset_ won't somehow sense his presence and seek him out in the airport crowd. He's well known to inhabit such uncanny abilities of perception. All those attributes which had once served them so well and had worked to their advantage are now a constant threat. 

The irony of it is rich. 

How had they been so careless this time? Not kept a tighter leash on him? He never should have been allowed to make it this far. 

And the situation is a bit more dire than previously suspected as it's not only a randomly assigned officer who's traveling with him, but Romanoff herself. It leads him to believe that perhaps S.H.I.E.L.D may be recruiting The Asset for their own covert operations. Or bargaining with him. In exchange for what, is anyone's guess. For information....perhaps. That is, _if_ he can actually remember anything of value to give them. However, it should also never be taken for granted that he can't. Or won't. Maybe the US government is offering him protection, though very doubtful that the soldier needs anyone else's protection. He's a virtual one man army, capable of taking on and defeating dozens of opponents without batting an eye, no assistance required. Which is also why it seems rather excessive to have an agent of Romanoff's caliber accompanying him.

Unless she has an agenda of her own. They had sporadically been lovers in the past, after all. 

He continues watching from his safe distance as the well dressed couple show their identifications and then converse briefly with customs officials before boarding the private jet, a Boeing 787, The Asset and another man from the crew carrying on only a very minimal amount of luggage. 

After he's certain that their flight has taken off and cleared Canadian airspace, he plans to make the trek to Quebec City and to check the apartment that he can only assume was totally abandoned, though he doesn't really expect to find much of anything of use having been left there. 

But of course, there are all the people. Neighbors and acquaintances, past and present, who might prove useful for information. They may have cared enough about the man they believed they'd gotten to know enough to feel some sense of loyalty to him. Some reluctance to share. But what they won't give up willingly can always be extracted by force. 

Everybody has a limit. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	9. Chapter 9

*********************************************

**Chapter Nine**

One more thing confirmed for Bucky upon their arrival at the sprawling hill top Long Island estate, and it's that Nick Fury apparently believes in nothing less than excessive lavishness when it comes to his agents and their special “favors”. 

Or maybe it's just for Natasha. 

Everything from the travel arrangements, to the flight out on a private jet and now being allowed to make himself at home in a place so extravagant...it's just all too much. It makes him feel oddly out of place. And it's not that he isn't appreciative of the accommodations, but he honestly already misses the quiet confinement of the little apartment in Canada where he'd spent months learning and memorizing every crack in the walls....every chip of loose paint flaking from the ceilings and every inch of safely explored space. 

Being here, everything's brand spanking new again. Other things to learn, even more to remember. 

He's also determined to adapt and not let it overwhelm him. Especially for _her_ sake.

“All of the house's windows are impervious.” Natasha tells him, gesturing to the panoramic windows that cover much of the lower level's expansive lounging area. “Also one-way view. We can see out and around the area for miles, but no one can see in. You can walk around naked in here if you want. Nice, huh?”

“Thanks, but I think I'll spare you.” 

Natasha smiles, thinking maybe he's just forgotten that she's seen everything the good Lord gave him before. But then again, they _are_ starting over. Friends only....and that had mainly been her idea. 

“The structure's solid enough to withstand a single short-range missile blast.” she continues expounding on the specifications, “It might not do so great after a second one, but at least it gives the occupants time to vacate to the escape passages underground.”

“Nice to know.” Bucky plants his bag of prized possessions on the carpet away from the main doors, “So you'll give me the grand tour?”

“I'll even give you the blueprints.” Natasha presses a series of numbers into a keypad near the same doors and looks back at him, “Along with a list of all the security codes you'll need to get in and out.”

His wide blue eyes scanning the vast, ground-level space of his new living facilities, Bucky says quietly, “Just like home.” 

And the irony of that bleak statement hangs in the air between the two former-assassins. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Falling, plummeting....nothing to grasp, no way to stop it...helplessly surrendering to the void, with no way to be saved....  
His heart pumping blood so viciously it feels as though it could explode....and his own deafening screams die as a cloak of darkness descends...._

_Hoisted onto a stretcher and then dragged through the snow...._  
_Poles and blood leaving trails and stripes of red in the cold white..._  
_His coat is navy blue...all so symbolic._  
_For a second he almost believes that he's being pulled through clouds on his way to heaven...  
But why would he even be allowed in such a paradise, and why would the angels taking there him speak in words that he can't quite understand?_

_“You will be the new fist of HYDRA....a god among mortals....a merciless angel of death....”_

_He watches scenes unfold through a sniper rifle's scope, focusing....zeroing in on and holding the targets, caressing them with the cross-hairs. Doesn't take time to think about it because thinking isn't required. Killing is like breathing. Or like fucking....and he can't stop himself until the seed is spilled. Mission completed. One, two, three, and they'll never even hear it coming. Death delivered as a surprise is best unless for a torture kill. Sometimes their heads explode like melons on impact and mean no more to him than the random objects obliterated in target practice. Only some of the random objects scream and sob and plead as they're placed before him for execution. The extremely unfortunate and insubordinate of HYDRA._

_Other times there's a violent splash of red almost immediately following a single shot....and he already knows the geyser of flesh and bone the bullets will leave upon exit...so far removed from him, like tiny, distant blossoms of destruction sprayed upon the ground. And when the targets are bombed, from the fire and ash of the explosion, black smoke billowing in its wake...a lone soldier dressed in black, dark battle paint smudged around eyes like blue ice, steps over and walks through the litter of mortality he's been commanded to spread over the Earth....powerful and unscathed and untouched._

_Remorseless and inhuman. The Winter Soldier...._

_He is you and you, he. You are one...a single body and mind, joined for all eternity. No escape...no repentance. No way to be saved...to be spared from the murder._

_You will kill again. You will kill always._

His body jolts as if struck by lightning, and Bucky's hurled into consciousness with the same relentless hammering inside his chest and moisture on his skin as usual, lips agape as he desperately gasps for air. It's never just as simple as waking up anymore, and hasn't been for a long time. Even worse is that waking to the sound of birds bickering and singing their morning tunes at the pane of his bedroom window is one of the few things that he actually can remember from his childhood. 

It taunts him. 

Wide, panicked eyes chew up his surroundings and finally determine that it's safe even in the dark with only the moon's silver beams filtering through the wide-view window. 

He stops breathing for a minute to listen.

 _Total silence._ No guards or vitals being monitored or the maddening hum of machines. There's no chair with iron restraints holding his head and wrists and limbs too tightly in place while the blue poison is pumped through tubes into his veins. Just sweat dampened bed sheets pooled at his waist and the slight chill of central air-conditioning filling the space around him. 

It's an even further relief when he's actually able to open the bedroom door without a struggle and realizes that it's not a locked chamber, after all. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Natasha switches on the kitchen light at three AM to find him leaning against the island with messy bed hair and bare feet, wearing a sleeveless white t-shirt and pajama pants. He's slowly eating a sandwich. She doesn't need to ask if it's because he can't sleep at all, or if it's just that the nightmares keep waking him. She also doesn't wonder why he'd needed food. His handlers had always deprived and starved the soldier just so they could enjoy the hunger and thirst evident in his eyes while they ate and drank heartily in his presence. 

Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'comfort food' when one finally has the freedom to eat what they want and whenever they want it.

She'd gone through it as well. It's something they'd talked about before...one of those other times when he'd been _her_ James. They've always bonded over the things they have in common, there are so many.

Instead she just asks what kind of sandwich he's having, to which he quietly informs “peanut butter and jelly, two of a single guy's best pals”. 

“A single girl's, too. “ she smiles and then makes a sandwich of her own before adding two glasses of cold milk to their middle of the night menu. 

And after a few minutes, finally feeling enough at ease to relax a bit, Bucky pulls up a stool and sits at the counter with Natasha so they can finish their comfort food together. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be away for a about a week, but hopefully I'll be able to edit and add the next chapter soon after I return. Thank you all for reading this story and for making me feel so welcome as I post my first ever fan fiction on this site. I really look forward to communicating with and getting to know other readers and writers here at AO3. I've enjoyed reading works on the site for a number of years myself, so it's awesome to finally write something for it. You're all great. :)


	10. Chapter 10

*****************************************

**Chapter Ten**

Vernon Nordstrom is a young man who has been raised to love and respect his family, friends, neighbors, coworkers and fellow countrymen. By all accounts, he's quite the mama's boy who keeps an eye on and maintains a close relationship with her, especially as his dad had died when he was only eleven. Even though he no longer lives with dear old mom, he shows up at her apartment for dinner nearly every night after he gets off work. Vernon also always takes her to her favorite restaurants on weekends, knowing that it's the best way to get her out of the house and to take a break from cooking, although it's something she thoroughly enjoys. 

He rarely misses a day seeing his mother. Even if he has a Saturday night date, he'll treat his mom to a Saturday afternoon lunch instead. 

Sixty-five year old Nola Nordstrom finds it very unusual when she doesn't hear from her son at all on Saturday. She'd seen him the previous night when he'd left her flat after dinner around eight o'clock. But then, no call came from him like it normally did early the next day. He didn't call or show up for dinner on Saturday evening either. Didn't bother to let her know if he had a date or was just planning to hang out with his friends so she wouldn't worry about him. By the time Sunday afternoon rolls around, she's so concerned that her sister Margaret picks her up so they can travel the few miles to Vernon's house together to see if he's alright. 

Upon their arrival they can see that his blue Honda Civic is parked in the drive, but when they knock, no one answers his front door. In fact, no signs of life at all stir within the small cottage he usually occupies. 

Come Monday morning when Vernon still hasn't called her or even shown up at his job, poor Nola is nothing short of a panic-stricken mess. She's in tears while on the phone with the police Monday afternoon, being told that she should file a missing persons report at the precinct nearest her, when there's a loud knock on her apartment door. 

She opens the door to see a somewhat disheveled, but apparently unharmed Vernon, looking as though he hasn't slept, shaved or showered in days. She informs the police that her son is at her door and that he's fine before hanging up the phone, then all but collapses into his embrace, relieved.

“Oh...” Nola sobs against his chest, “....thank God, you're alright!” Stepping back to get a better look at him, she asks, “You are, _aren't_ you? Where on Earth have you been? Your Aunt Margaret and I knocked at your door yesterday....asked neighbors if they'd seen you, and when you didn't show up for work this morning....I...oh, _my baby boy_...I could only imagine the absolute worst!”

The pupils in the center of Vernon's pale blue eyes are wide and black as he pats his mother's back tenderly and issues a faint smile that she doesn't see, “We should turn on the news, Mother. It's been a very long day.” He releases and then moves away from her stiffly, walking over to the television set in her living room to press its power button. 

Nola finds his behavior odd and more than a little discomforting. She scowls at him, “But...I don't _want_ to watch the news, Vernon! I want to know where you've been....and what's going on with you. Are you in some sort of trouble, son? Let's talk about it. Alright? You look like you haven't eaten or napped for days. You can take a shower and then rest while I fix you something good for dinner, and then we can talk about whatever it is....”

“Mother...” he turns away from the television to face her, expression vacant, his reddish brown hair oily and shadowing his eyes “...please be quiet now, and just look at what I've done.” He makes a slight gesture at the TV's large screen with one hand, “The news will explain it all....about where I've been since I last saw you.”

When the woman turns her eyes to the television screen, all she sees is a frantic reporter in what looks like the center of a shopping mall, her voice breaking emotionally while police officers and first-responders assist injured people among what looks like sheet-covered bodies strewn across a wide, open space. 

“Good heavens, what _is_ this? What's happening on there...and what does it have to do with you?” she asks, directing a confused gaze to her son again. 

“They asked me about him...” Vernon explains as he collects the remote control from the coffee table to increase the volume, his voice an expressionless monotone as he speaks above the voices coming from the television speakers, “....your neighbor, the one who lived upstairs, directly above.”

“Him? I don't...I don't know. I never even knew his name. He always seemed like a nice enough young man though. Very quiet...kept to himself for the most part.” Nola tells him. “Cynthia Baxter told me that he's moved out of the building. I have no idea why or...but....who are you talking about, son? Who are _they?_ ”

“The ones who took me...put everything inside my head.” he responds without emotion, not a single change present on his youthful visage. “They said that he's a soldier...a sergeant. An assassin. A _murderer_.” He turns his eyes to the television screen again. “And when they asked me if I thought that I could ever do the kind of things that he's done, I answered 'no'. But they proved to me that I was wrong.”

“Vernon....what in Heaven's name do you....” Nola begins to inquire more, but then the reporter's words from the television catch her attention, beginning to make some kind of horrific sense to her....

_“Eye witnesses say that the shooter was a white male, appearing to be between the ages of 25 and 30, approximately six feet tall...slightly long, auburn hair and light blue eyes. He was wearing a green and black plaid shirt over a black t-shirt, and blue jeans.....”_

Nola's heart starts to pound even more rapidly as she realizes that the pretty reporter on the news is describing Vernon's attire to perfection. 

The horror registers on her face as she stares at him in disbelief, her twenty-seven year old son and only child. “No...what have you done? All those poor people. Why would you? _Why?_ ” 

Still lacking show of a single emotion, Vernon calmly explains, “They said that I'm playing my role in the shaping of history, Mother...that I am helping to control and return a very important weapon to them. I'm doing my part, making my contribution for the good of modern society.” 

_“...surveillance footage from earlier today shows an image of the assailant armed with a military-type assault rifle as shots begin to ring out.”_ the voice on the news reports, _“The entire shooting took place over a span of about ten minutes in which thirty-five people were shot....eighteen of those injuries, fatal.....”_

When Nola turns a despondent gaze upon her son to again ask him 'why?' or if it was because of something she'd done wrong in raising him, the only explanation she gets is an enthusiastic “Heil HYDRA!” as he draws an automatic handgun from the waistband of his jeans beneath the plaid shirt and fires a single shot into her forehead. 

He blankly stares at the large splatter of blood that's now soaking into the coral and teal quilt she'd shown him she was working on the last time he'd seen her before today. The one she was planning to give his Aunt Margaret for Christmas this year. 

And then Vernon Nordstrom gazes wearily into the heated barrel of the murder weapon still clutched in his hand, repeating the last words he'd ever said to his mother before squeezing the trigger one final time. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	11. Chapter 11

***************************************

**Chapter Eleven**

 

_“Scratching an itch.”_

It's one of the most crass and stupid things she'd ever said to him, and predictably for the past couple of weeks that they've been coexisting within the same space—even with the potential to remain nearly miles apart given the house's massive size—Natasha's been regretting having said it. 

Especially as it'd been a great big lie. 

What's worse is she's almost certain that Bucky had seen straight through the lie, too, as he has an annoying habit of being able to do. He's probably just baiting her when he sings her praises for always being so goddamn honest with him. 

Of course, Nat always _is_ honest about the things that count...the ones that can prove detrimental to the safety or well-being of others. She's truthful with the people she cares about when it comes to anything that could negatively impact them or the lives of their loved ones, because after all the death she's brought upon those she was forced to target in the past—some of whom she knows didn't actually deserve it—she'd much rather remain firmly rooted in the business of saving lives now. 

She also lies when she needs to. For missions....for setting up covers. For successful infiltration. Those are the necessary lies. The ones required to efficiently do her job. 

But sometimes she lies when it comes to her own feelings; engaging in the art of blatant denial in order to protect them even when she can't shut the truth out of her head, _or_ her heart. That's where the whole damn 'scratching an itch' bullshit had come from in the first place, because James had been angry about her involvement with the soldier in Amsterdam. 

So exactly what should she have told him instead? _“I only sought him out because he was the closest I could get to you, James, and I really needed you. I missed you so much.”_ Or should she have just told him that it's possible she's still in love with him, even as much as she hates facing it? That her feelings don't change even when he's not himself? That she can't just turn them off whenever he suddenly haunts her existence again while hidden behind a mask, a pair of thermal goggles and a sniper rifle?

Is it possible to fall out of love with someone who has forgotten you? Forgotten who you are and your relationship with them while their mind is being manipulated? While they're aiming a gun at you with the intent to destroy? Can you even still love that same person after they've shot you? Actually put a bullet through your body in order to murder another person that you were acting as a human shield for? 

Maybe the better question is, can you still love someone that you sometimes fear?

It'll wreck Bucky if he recovers all the details about the engineer's assassination near Odessa, and while there's still a really strong chance that he will....that something, somehow will trigger his memory of it, Natasha hopes like hell it never happens. And that makes her feel like a traitor, especially as she's now able to actually witness him struggling and wanting to regain the memories of his past and the man he'd been before HYDRA had sunk their hooks into his soul. 

_“I don't understand.”....“I can't figure it out.”_

She's seen at least one of those statements written across his face a thousand times over the past couple of weeks even though he tries not to complain. 

It breaks her heart. 

From Nat's observation, it would appear that Bucky gets fragmented pieces of memory back at random. He recovers trivial slices of information like suddenly recalling his mother's childhood nickname, or what song had been playing on the gramophone in the apartment next door the first time he'd posed for one of Steve's portraits. Memories from before he was ever mind-wiped, he seems to be able to retain them if he can write down and reference them once in a while. But there are also small things that he forgets from day to day and has to re-teach himself. Simple, modern tech stuff that it's easy for most everyone else to take for granted, like how to use the automatic coffee brewer or the electric can opener. 

“Fuck! What's the hell's wrong with me?” he groans.

That's the mood this particular evening after he's stared at the microwave for about five minutes straight. There's a bag of un-popped Orville Reddenbacher inside it. 

Natasha feels the tangible force of Bucky's frustration as he plops down on his favorite perch at the kitchen's island, red-faced, elbows hitting the gray granite as his dark head falls to the heels of his hands. 

“You mean besides the trauma of having been brainwashed and suffering the effects of countless memory-deprivation and torture techniques over the past seventy or so years?” she responds, purposely flippant, determined not to add to his humiliation by making a big deal of the setback. “I dunno," she shrugs, "You could probably use a good shave, but other than that everything else about you seems okay.”

Big blue eyes flash a miserable, ashamed glance across the counter at her. “There's something wrong, Nat. I should be able to do all this stupid little shit without a problem by now. It's been nine goddamn months!” he shakes his head as he knots his hands together....flesh and metal digits entwined and starting to clench nervously. “It's not fair for you to have to stay around here and look after me like I'm some helpless child either. When I was on my own I had to force myself to keep remembering things, but now with you here, it's like I use you as a crutch.”

“So...” her heart takes a swift dive into the pit of her stomach, “... you want me to leave?”

“ _No!_ ” he barks out emphatically. 

Even though the rapid-fire reaction is a relief to Natasha, the last thing she wants is for her constant presence to make him feel helpless. She's been trying to do anything but, in fact, no matter how hard it is to stand by and let him figure out things for himself and then become frustrated when they don't gel. 

Lightening the mood then, Bucky's face breaks into a small grin, “Besides, movie nights wouldn't be the same without you. And I wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of all that Bachelor shit without your running commentary.”

She smiles genuinely. Warmly. “Sorry if I've been too much of a mother hen.”

“Natalia, please....don't apologize.” he sighs softly, standing up to round the counter and approach her. 

_Goddamn him_ , and just like that, Natasha Romanoff feels like the same intimidated but infatuated eighteen year old girl she'd been upon her first time ever seeing the sergeant in all his leather-clad, muzzled glory. 

“I know you're only looking out for me because of how much you care.” he says, silvery blue gaze penetrating hers, “That's the reason for all this, and I appreciate it. It's not something you have to do. When I get pissed off at myself for this silly little crap I struggle with, that's not on you. At all. I guess it's more about my anger at the damage that's been done, and worrying that it might be irreversible. I mean, I escaped from them...from HYDRA....wanting that to be _it_ , y'know? The end of it all. But in so many ways, they're still here....still looming, holding onto me, keeping me a prisoner inside my own damn body....and I just....I _can't_ ;...” his words trail off emotionally. 

Her first instinct is to hold him. 

Instead, she eases a comforting hand up onto his shoulder, the metal one, and gives it a soothing stroke. “Hey, it's alright...I understand. You don't owe me any explanations....” 

“Oh, sweetheart, I owe you a _helluva_ lot more than that...you have no idea.” He inches in even closer to her, expansive right hand crossing over to his left shoulder, tenderly covering the slender fingers that she has resting there. “You've told me before how I saved your life in the Red Room. But what you don't seem to get is that you saved mine, too....and I'm not just talking about you finding me in Quebec City, but a long time before that....” 

Despite her resolve to remain calm and composed, Nat's pulse is racing and she's so keenly aware of everything. Every sensation...every emotion. Aware of his proximity...of the warmth emanating from his body in its sudden, unexpected closeness to hers. As they hold each other's gazes, she swallows hard when she sees his eyes dip lower for a fraction of a second...just long enough to examine the plush fullness of her lips as he softly licks his own. 

It's another tell of his that she's all too familiar with, and one that she's always loved. She mentally prepares herself to accept the kiss she knows is coming.... 

And then the damn cell phone tucked into the hip pocket of her jeans begins to scream out an annoying ringtone as if in warning. 

“ _Goddamn it_.” she mutters a curse. 

Bucky blinks slowly and his eyes refocus like someone who has just been woken from a dream. A good one that he's disappointed about, yet accepting of having been extracted from. 

He issues a gentle smile as he backs away from her a bit. He cocks one brow, “If I didn't know better, I'd think _he's_ watching us. Your protective 'Father' figure....” 

Yes. It's the ringtone that she has programmed into her phone for Nick, and Natasha's not at all surprised that, even having only heard it once before, Bucky remembers it. His mind is meticulous when it comes to recalling little details like that....which is precisely one of many reasons that the microwave debacle and similar incidents has her really worried. 

_What the hell else had HYDRA been doing to him besides what they've always known about?_

“Hey.” she says into the cell phone after hitting the 'talk' button to activate the call. 

Nick's tone of voice is biting as he speaks, “Don't know if it has anything to do with your mysterious “friend” or just a very strong coincidence, but if you haven't already seen the news about what just went down in his old 'hood today, you might want to check it out.” 

She doesn't have to take up the suggestion. Having heard Nick's voice over the phone, Bucky grabs the remote control for the flat screen that's mounted on the kitchen wall and hits the power button. Turns it to CNN. 

Natasha responds quietly to Nick, “Got it. Thanks.” And the line goes dead in her ear as her eyes are drawn to the events unfolding on the news. 

They're showing the gray stone exterior of Bucky's former apartment complex. Members of the QC Coroner's Unit are rolling two stretchers carrying lumpy black body bags from the building's front entrance. The names only sound familiar to Nat as she's sure that she'd seen one of them on a tenant roster for the complex when she'd been staking the place out. 

Another newsreel shot shows an apartment door that looks exactly like the one belonging to the flat Bucky had occupied, only with the number-letter combo 12F on it instead of 12G. Shooting victim, Nola Nordstrom, sixty-five years old. Dead from a single head shot. Also dead, her twenty-seven year old son. Self-inflicted gunshot wound through his head via the roof of the mouth. Something Nat was very familiar with. One way to almost ensure that the suicide isn't a botched attempt. Or that one's execution looks like a successful suicide. 

“ _They_ killed her. She died because she lived where I was hiding out....made an example of her and her boy for my sake....” 

Natasha's gaze snaps away from CNN to focus on Bucky. “There's no way we can be sure of that yet. Her son....” 

He whirls on her with a sudden glare, teeth clenched inside tightening jaws. “The kid never missed a goddamn day visiting her. Held a steady job. Loads of friends, girlfriends, active social life....and we're honestly supposed to buy that he suddenly flips his shit one day and decides to not only put a bullet through his beloved mother's skull, but off a bunch of random strangers in a shopping mall? _C'mon, Nat_ , you know as well as I do what the fuck that sounds like! _Look at his goddamn face!_ You gonna tell me that doesn't look even the _slightest_ bit familiar?” 

Her eyes shift to the screen again to study the grainy surveillance footage of Vernon Nordstrom as he begins firing rounds of automatic ammunition into a crowd of people gathered at the food court inside the mall. “You see that? He's talking as he fires....repeating something...” 

“Does it look like Russian to you, too?” Bucky asks, standing only inches away from the television now. 

“Yeah, it does. I'll hack the CNN feed and then try cleaning up the footage enough to where we should be able to tell for sure.” 

“Yes, please. That'd be good.” Bucky's nodding, his eyes glassy as he watches the young man on the screen methodically gun down dozens of defenseless victims. His own expression is a chilling mixture of fear and sadness and pain when he turns around to face Natasha. “I gotta stop 'em before they can do this again, Nat. I can't let anybody else die because of me. I just _can't_.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	12. Chapter 12

***************************************

**Chapter Twelve**

 

откликаются на солдата, зима пришла, pronounced “otklikayutsya na soldata, zima prishla”.....

_Hail to the soldier, winter has come._

As evident from the mall shooting surveillance footage that Natasha had cleaned up and enhanced, these were unmistakably the words that had been chanted by Vernon Nordstrom when he'd started pulling the trigger. 

It's a revelation that will haunt Bucky Barnes for the rest of his life, and possibly beyond. 

Given what they've discovered along with the horrible news about the shooting, Nat tries to do a better job of keeping an eye on him without actually making it so obvious that that's what she's doing, of course. She'd learned a long time ago how to physically train her attention on one thing while mentally focusing on something entirely different. The problem with this being that Bucky's probably the one person alive who knows this particular trick of hers, not to mention all the rest of them. 

He further illustrates that point yet again by muttering, “You don't have to keep watching me.” while she's apparently busying herself on one of the high-tech desktops in the mansion's office. 

She doesn't bother stopping what she's doing to look up at him either. 

“I'm not.” she lies.

“Right. And HYDRA doesn't exist anymore, and the KGB really _did_ dissolve in 1991, blah, blah and blah, etcetera, etcetera. Why don'tcha try pulling the other one, sweetheart?"

The clearly marked sarcasm and attitude finally put a halt to Nat's Google-sleuthing. 

A perfect pair of green slits dart up to slice straight through the attractive man pacing the office floor. “You know, I'm trying to cut you some slack here because it's been an extra rough day for you, but your moods are swinging all over the place and I'm getting a little tired of playing dodge the daggers. Contrary to what you may feel at the moment, Bucky, I'm not the enemy. I'm the one who's _trying_ to help you, so yeah, if I happen to be keeping an eye on you more than usual given everything that went down today and it's bothering you, then that's just too damn bad. _Deal with it_.”

Immediately after the last words leave her lips, her eyes snap back to the computer screen and she misses the little smirk that crosses his lips as he plants himself in another chair just a few feet from hers. 

“You called me Bucky.” he says, completely straight faced again. 

Natasha doesn't look at him this time. “Yeah, and _so?_ ”

“It made you sound like Steve there for a second. The way he used to tell me off sometimes.”

“Well, I can't imagine that you didn't deserve it.” She takes another glance over the monitor at him, “Sometimes.”

A crooked grin from him now. “Yeah, as far as I can recall, I was sort of a little shit back in the day.” 

“Funny how some things never change.” she quips, fingers clicking away at the computer keys.

“Forgive me?” 

“Sure, why not? Seeing as how it's one of those bad habits I haven't managed to drop yet.”

“I like the bad parts of you.” Bucky says, his voice deep and soft....gaze so heated and intense that Natasha can actually feel it burning through her and she's not daring to look back at him. 

Not yet anyhow. Getting locked in that dangerous gaze of his wouldn't be the safest course of action. 

“You should.” she tries to lighten the mood by joking, “You helped nurture the majority of them.”

“Are we gonna talk about what almost happened in the kitchen earlier?”

 _Shit!_ How did she know that would come up? “No.”

Bucky feels like it's a positive that at least she's not trying to deny it actually _did_ happen. 

“We probably should.” he insists, tone remaining even. Quiet and cool. Eyes still glued to her. 

Natasha gives a nervous little head shake, “Oh, I don't know....I think we've done a pretty good job picking up the relationship as just friends again since we reunited. Why ruin it?”

“Because I feel like we need to talk about things while we still have the chance to.”

Her fingers freeze on the keyboard as she finally stares back at him. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

He doesn't miss a beat. “It means that what happened in Canada today is just the start of it, Nat. They're ruthless, they won't stop until I turn myself back over to them. In the meantime, more innocent people are going to die.”

The way he says it, not speculative at all but with the authority of someone who knows definitively because they've already seen the future, sends chills through her. 

“You don't know that.” she counters a little defensively, if only to temporarily squash her fears. “It could be exactly what they want you to think, knowing you'd do the noble thing. The Nordstrom kid could've been a sleeper who was set on a path to this singular, destructive conclusion a long time ago. You and I have both seen things like that happen before.”

“You were staking out the place for weeks before you came after me. I know you checked all the other tenants out, too.”

“True. But not their relatives.”

“But you _would've_ checked Vernon Nordstrom. He was there practically everyday.”

“James, it's not like I was living right on top of you the whole time I was there.” she sighs, returning her eyes to the screen. Some website about Russian-Canadian nationalists. “I had to eat and sleep....do other things to make myself seem like a tourist who was just enjoying her little getaway in the city. The other tenants in the building all checked out okay as far as I could tell. Nothing suspicious....”

His eyes are still boring virtual holes through her skull. “Checked them all out? You sure about that?”

“Yes!” She's trying her best to not get flustered, but he's always known how to pull certain strings of hers, and that just plain pisses her off. 

“Then why did you act like you didn't know who Cynthia was before I told you about her?”

 _Goddamn it!_

Busted and unable to wiggle out of the fabrication, Natasha rolls her eyes like an insolent child at first, instinctively wanting to attack and ask him why he's interrogating _her_ ; the one person who's trying to save his life!

But she doesn't ask. Because she respects Bucky more than that. And because she knows that he finally deserves answers to these questions, especially after today's shooting and the complete shock of it. Wouldn't be asking if he didn't desperately need to know. 

Releasing the deep breath that she'd taken in order to help prepare herself, Nat responds, “I could tell she meant something to you, that there was a deep attraction there....just from the little bit I observed of your interactions. It was the way you gazed at her...that soft look in your eyes. The way you responded to her...more gentle than usual. And other small things, like how you helped carry groceries into her apartment. I could see how she brought out your protective side again. Even made you smile sometimes...which can pretty much be the equivalent of a unicorn sighting around people you don't know that well.” She omits the part about how it had stabbed her own heart to see it, because there'd been a time when those beautiful and tender smiles of his had been reserved for her.

And even though that particular sentiment remains unspoken between them at the moment, Bucky can still read it in Natasha's eyes while he concentrates on the words that she actually _is_ saying instead. 

“When you tracked her boyfriend to where he worked and scared the shit out of him...” she continues, fully meeting his gaze now. Nothing left to hide, since she knows he's probably already read the rest of those thoughts she'd hoped to hide, “...that sort of confirmed it for me. You're not the type to get that personally involved unless someone really means a lot to you.”

“I got tired of hearing her cry at night." Bucky tells Nat. 

“I'm sure you did. Good job making the asshole piss his pants, too, by the way. The diapers were also a nice touch.”

“Thanks. But you still didn't answer my question.” he persists.

“What else do you want me to say, James?” Nat drops her hands to her sides in frustration, “I didn't tell you that I already knew who she was because I needed to hear about her personally from _you_ , alright? I wanted to hear the tone of your voice when you spoke about her....actually see the look in your eyes when you answered my questions. I needed to know if you were in love....” her words drift thoughtfully. 

Painfully.

And the tension that's suddenly hanging in the air between them is every bit as agonizing for Bucky, because he really needs to hear her admit if she still feels something. _Anything_. That moment they'd shared in the kitchen...her curse when Fury's call had interrupted it. 

_Damn it, Natalia...just tell me. Say it! Why did you need to know about Cynthia?_ his mind screams while he outwardly and calmly urges, "Why?", the hunger for her next words nearly as strong as the physical need for nourishment while starving. 

She blinks slowly, like someone coming out of a daze. “Because...." she pauses, trying to be cautious ".....if I knew, then so would anybody else who'd been paying attention.” Natasha manages to put her emotions in check before concluding, “They'd use her as a way to get to you. I wanted to know if she'd require protection, too. If so, I would've had Logan send somebody back after her...taken her into another safe house.”

“A place separate from me?” he prods on, prepared to play her game if she's going to persist dealing the phony hand, “Why would you do that?”

Her eyes widen, "Because two targets together are an easier hit than one. You know that. Also, to keep from further compromising either of you. Emotionally. You'd be far too vulnerable if kept in the same location. Deep emotional ties between two people almost always lead to recklessness which would then make the both of you easier to get to as you'd most likely care more about the safety of the other than your own. It could jeopardize the entire mission as well as the agents assigned.”

The fact that she's determined to keep this exchange between them all business instantly irritates Bucky. “That last part...just a bunch of mumbo-jumbo theories, spy rhetoric and bullshit.” he grumbles, shaking his head, “Jesus Christ, Nat...do you even hear yourself? I swear, sometimes you still sound like all the crap that Katya has ever tried to inject your brain with....anything to keep from feeling something. Whatever it takes to not show emotion, right?” 

“You should know.” she bites, hoping like hell it stings. 

And it does, but he's quick to throw it off and bite right back, “Or maybe you only share those kinds of emotions with guys like Logan Benning. Is _that_ it?”

“I'm through discussing it now, James....” The cat-shaped eyes snap up to glare at him. “...so if that's all you want to do, then maybe you should just get out.”

“That's cool.” He stands up. “All I'm doing here is distracting you from your job anyway, _Agent_.”

“And just to clarify,” Natasha calls out to Bucky as he's stalking toward the office door “...when I said get out, I meant out of _here_ , as in this room. You really shouldn't go outside the safe house anywhere on your own just yet.”

“Hello, have you _met_ me?” he turns to scowl at her, incredulous. “I can take care of myself just fine, goddamn it. Don't wait up.”

When he slams the office door behind him upon leaving, Natasha's more than half surprised it doesn't completely break away from the hinges. 

And speaking of breaking things, she suddenly wants to break a few objects herself. Current housemate's neck included. 

Why does he have to be so fucking unreasonable? So _stubborn_....so damn frustrating!

And why can't she just open her mouth and pour her heart out through it? That's obviously what he wants from her. But she just can't. Can't risk it. 

Because all of the 'spy rhetoric and mumbo-jumbo' that Bucky had gotten so pissed off at her for spouting hadn't really been about him and Cynthia at all. It had mainly been a warning from Natasha to herself. A reflection of her own feelings for him, and how she's not willing to jeopardize his safety by becoming so emotionally invested that it might cloud her judgement and wind up endangering his life. Hers too. 

She can't afford to operate on emotions. Not now. Especially not when the man she loves and always has is at stake. 

As she sits there in the office alone, listening to the rumbling sound of one of the Harleys Nick has provided for them ignite in the large underground garage and then roar off into the distance, she knows that she'll have to eventually go after Bucky. 

She also decides to give him a little time alone first, hoping that it'll clear his head enough for him to remember why loving her or expecting her love in return is such a monumental mistake. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	13. Chapter 13

****************************************

**Chapter Thirteen**

 

Seth Finnegan is on his fourth beer when he finally takes notice of the lighted wall clock behind the bar. 

Nine-forty five. 

Doesn't seem like it's been three whole hours already, but since the fight he's done whatever he can find to do. Any excuse to stay out of the house and out of his wife Emma's way, at least until she's had a reasonable amount of time to cool off. 

It was no surprise that he'd eventually wound up at his regular watering hole on a Monday night. 

At least being the start of a work week means that _Conroy's_ is pretty uneventful and comfortably enough so for a young, banished husband to hang out in and avoid more trouble. No signs of anything really happening inside the bowels of the place. Nothing out of the ordinary anyway. Just a small group of young guys tucked away in a corner sharing ice cold pitchers of draft and a few laughs while watching a football game on the big screen. A couple of middle-aged men shooting pool. Two cute girls being chatted up and flirted with by one of the young guys from the corner table. 

Seth guesses that a majority of the bar's occupants are probably fresh meat college grads enjoying their last bits of youthful freedom before finally having to knuckle down and join the unfortunate masses of workforce-inflicted adults struggling through the current economy. 

That's all it is, of course. A guess. Being a writer, no matter how financially unsuccessful an endeavor it's turned out to be for him thus far, Seth enjoys people-watching. He thrives on observing. Even on slow, regular Monday nights in his favorite bar. 

He's not really expecting anything out of the ordinary when he suddenly hears the rumble of a motorcycle nearing the bar's front entrance. About ten seconds later a tall, leather-jacketed stranger with long dark hair and a brooding glare saunters into the place, sitting just a few stools away from him before waving the bartender over to ask for a beer. 

“Uh, I got that for him, Arty.” Seth speaks up with a raised hand, and then drops a few bills onto the bar top before he even realizes what he's doing or why. He gives the stranger a little grin, “I'm a regular here and you're obviously not, so I hope it's okay. Sort of my way of welcoming the new folks around town who happen to find this place.”

Bucky gives him a little nod, “Thanks.” He automatically sizes the guy up, not that there's much by way of _size_ to him at all. Slender. A dark blond fringe dusting heavy brows. A narrow face that looks too small and weak to contain strong features such as its wide eyes and fleshy lips. 

The man's appearance sends a wave of nostalgia through Bucky, making him recollect years ago when he'd often been in the company of another slight-framed blond....long before that guy had become the hero sporting the uniform of red, white and blue known around the world. 

“Hey, do you mind if I.....” the smaller man references the space between their bar seats “...you know....just to talk, if that's alright.” 

Seth tries to swallow the lump of intimidation settling in his throat as a pair of cool blue eyes study him for what seems an eternity, dipping from his head to his sneakers and back before the man they belong to issues another subtle but uncertain nod. 

“Cool. Thanks.” He grabs his own beer before he can lose his nerve and moves down the bar closer to Bucky, still leaving an empty stool between them. He reaches over to extend a friendly hand, “Name's Seth. Seth Finnegan. I'm a writer.”

He accepts the younger man's handshake. “Bucky, Seth. And I'm _not_ a writer.” 

“Bucky. That's a cool nickname. Let me guess...” Seth smiles at him “...biker gang, right?”

Doesn't get a smile in return. “You see any cuts on this leather?”

“Uh, no.... _no_ , I don't.” The blond takes a deep, steadying breath under the scrutiny of his new drinking partner's glare, “Guess that was stupid of me, huh?”

“Not really. Just means you're a horrible guesser, Seth.”

“Maybe. But maybe not.” the writer persists, taking a sip of his beer. “You a military guy, Bucky?”

“Former. Army.” Bucky accepts the frosty mug of beer the bartender places in front of him. Takes a deep drink and asks, “You?”

Seth shakes his head. “Nah. I used to want in, like right after I got out of high school. Never made the grade though. Too many childhood illnesses, Asthma being the worst of 'em. And my mom never wanted me to enlist anyway, so I guess it worked out for the best.” He stops talking when he notices the dark-haired man giving him a weird stare. “Oh, hey....I'm not trying to pick you up, Bucky, if that's what you're thinking.”

Bucky's lips twist in confusion, “What?” 

“I mean, I'm happily married. You know.....to a... _girl_.”

Tearing his eyes away from the small guy, Bucky's gaze returns to his beer mug, “Well, good for you, Seth. But I didn't think you were tryin' to hit on me.”

Nodding, Seth responds, “Alright. Well, that....that's cool. I mean, you're a good-lookin' man though, Bucky, so it's not that I _wouldn't_ make a play for you, y'know....like, if I was into guys or somethin'...but I'm not, so....”

“I really don't care what you're into, kid.” Bucky interrupts the nervous chatter from the writer, fixing him with another stare. “Just so you're happy. That's all that matters.”

Inhaling deep and releasing a sigh of relief, Seth grins, “Oh. Yeah...yeah. I'm happy. _Real_ happy. Maybe less right now than usual though. Had a fight with the little lady this evening, so....y'know....”

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky cocks one brow as he discreetly looks the other guy over again, secretly wondering how small the 'little lady' must be in order for someone as scrawny as Seth to call her that. Also thinks that if the dude refers to her as such to her face or in the presence of other people, it's no damn wonder he's out of the house. 

The poor, clueless kid probably didn't have much choice in the matter. 

Bucky half smirks into his drink while he imagines calling Natatsha his 'little lady'. It'd be one helluva great way to invite oneself to the losing end of a wrestling match.

“Yeah. That's why I'm here.” Seth nods, taking a gulp from his mug, almost confirming Bucky's summation. “Monday's not a usual night out for me.”

“For me neither.”

Seth looks at him, eyebrows practically vanishing beneath the blond fringe. “So....you, too? Have a fight with the wife, I mean?”

“Somethin' like that.” Bucky replies in an even tone, and he's not exactly lying because whether she likes it or not, Natasha's the closest thing to a wife that he ever expects to have. Or _want_. 

The young writer shakes his head with a quiet chuckle, “Damn, man. It must be in the air today or some shit.”

“Must be.” Bucky takes another swallow of his beer. “So did yours kick you out, or did you have the good sense to leave before it got that far?”

“Good sense? _Me?_ Are you kidding?” Seth asks with a laugh, “No, Bucky...it wasn't a matter of any kind of good sense on my part. You see, we've been married for three years and now....my Emmy....she's pregnant. Seven months along with our first kid, and well....things have been kind of different ever since. It's like I can't do anything right anymore....”

Bucky just looks at the guy, but gives a nod anyway, trying his damnedest to understand as much about that sort of situation as he possibly can. But it's not easy to relate because he's never had to deal with those domestic types of problems and probably never will. 

His personal conflicts have always been more about life and death. Literally. 

Seth continues to talk. “Today though, the argument was just plain ridiculous, you know? Like I finally said what I thought about her eating so much ice cream. She's had a pint a day for the past three months, man.” 

“You're joking, right?”

The young writer perks up on his bar stool, clearly gaining enthusiasm once he believes that his new drinking buddy is going to see his side of the whole dilemma. “No, Bucky....not joking at all! I mean, it's amazing, right? One person consuming that much ice cream....it's just bordering on obsessive, and that's what I told her. I reminded her how much she's going to regret it when she has all that extra weight to lose after the baby comes.”

“Seth....” Bucky lowers his beer mug to fix the smaller guy with a heavy stare “....don't take this wrong, pal, because I mean it in the most sincere way possible, but you're a dumbass.”

Mouth falling open, Seth stares back in disbelief. “Huh?”

“You heard me. You're a dumbass.” Bucky repeats and then downs what's left in his glass. His eyes penetrate the younger man as he expounds, “Your wife....Emmy is it?”

“Yeah....”

“Well, y'see, Seth, it's like this; Emmy has dedicated her whole body along with a huge chunk of her past year to growing a family that you can share together....your future, your _legacy_ , and she should goddamn well be free to eat whatever the fuck she wants to and whenever she fucking wants it without any negative commentary from you. You, as her husband and best friend and as a guy who's about to have a brand new mind to influence and help set daily examples for, need to, at the very _least_ , give her your unbridled attention and support since you didn't physically contribute anything more to the entire baby-making process than injecting part of the ingredients needed to get the kid started...which sure as hell wasn't any kind of unpleasant function for you, unlike a lot of what _she's_ probably been experiencing most days ever since. Your best bet is to show her as much compassion as you can possibly muster, buddy.....massage her shoulders, rub her feet, draw her nice warm baths...and goddamn it, even add bubbles. Kiss her and remind her how beautiful she is and why you fell in love with her in the first place and don't forget to tell her how very proud and grateful you are that she's chosen _you_ , of all the schmucks she could've had, to be the father of her children. And for fuck's sake, when you go home after you leave here tonight, drop by the goddamn mini-mart and pick up a half-gallon of her favorite flavor to hand to her right along with the most heartfelt plea for forgiveness that you've ever given anybody. You do anything less than that, and as far as I'm concerned, you're a literal piece of shit. You got that?” 

The writer's bluish-green eyes are wide and frozen on Bucky's face. “Holy...mother of fuck!” A grin slowly spreads across his full lips. “You, dude....damn. _You_....”

The fire going out of his eyes as quickly as it had ignited, Bucky suddenly turns his gaze away from Seth, feeling somewhat embarrassed about his unexpected rush of emotion, inky dark locks spilling forward to conceal most of his face as he looks down at the empty beer mug still clutched in his hands. “What?”

Finnegan throws a couple more bills on top of the bar, “Hey Arty, another round, please? Thanks.” Laughing, he slaps a hand on Bucky's left shoulder and then jerks it away with a wince, “Jesus Christ, you're built like a tank underneath that leather. Doesn't surprise me though. What does surprise me is you.....walkin' in here looking like you're a knighted member of the Hell's Angels New York chapter and then spouting off all this wisdom about women and pending parenthood like you're some back-alley, marriage counseling guru. I'm fucking impressed, Bucky. Like, seriously! Stunned and impressed. You're really more of an enigma than you seem, which is a lot. Believe me. Shit, what the hell are you even doing here? 'Cause I'm surprised you ever get into it with your old lady at all.”

Arty, the bartender, places two more ice cold mugs of beer in front of Bucky and Seth. 

“Better never let her hear you call her that,” Bucky deadpans, “...unless you've got a fetish for black eyes and busted lips.”

Seth smiles, picking up his newly poured draft. “Ah, sounds like you've got yourself a tough, no-nonsense woman there, Buck.”

 _Buck_. The shortening of his nickname sends him back to a time before the war. Before everything had changed. To the simpler days. To the Brooklyn of 1935, sitting on the fire escape of an old brick high-rise, smoking cigarettes he'd bummed from the old guys down at the docks while Steve sketches in a tattered notebook and they both watch the changing hues of the sunset. 

The memory leaves a dull ache in the hollow of his chest. 

“You can't be that much older than I am, right?” Seth is rattling on as he gulps from his glass. “I mean, what are you, like twenty-eight, twenty-nine?”

“A little bit older than that.” Bucky responds, thinking, _'Probably damn near old enough to be your grandpa's grandpa.'_

“See?” Seth shakes his head. “That's what I mean.....that's just crazy, man! Like, I'm twenty-six and it seems like you know so much more shit than I do. Like you've actually been places, seen things. Really _lived_ , you know? That's something I can't help but admire. Hell, I might even want to write about you someday, if you'd let me.”

Bucky fixes him with a curious gaze. “I don't think so, kid. Who do you write for anyway?”

“The fun stuff I've been writing for myself mainly. I've been professionally writing a column for the local newspaper for the past two years though...but it's not really where my heart is at. They want articles about townhall meetings and area bands that visit some of the small clubs around here. But _me?_ I wanna write about actual people. The citizens who make this place, or anyplace, what it really is. Human interest stories. In other words, I aspire to write something that's eventually gonna impress someone important enough at the New York Times for them to hire me. You'd be a perfect subject, Bucky. Army vet. Tough and intimidating. Mysterious and a deep-thinker....filled with life's knowledge. So tell me, what kind of action did you see out in the field? And where? You're too young for Desert Storm, so what was it? Iraq?”

He doesn't know what it is about this writer fella—maybe the fact that he's somewhat courageous and a little bit pushy, reminiscent of a young Steve Rogers—but Bucky almost feels like telling him the goddamn truth; that he's seen 'action' every time he's opened his fucking eyes for the past seventy years. That he's seen the stuff nightmares are spun from. Death. Destruction. Pain. Some of it having been brought by his own hands. He wants to say that he's witnessed unimaginable things being done to people no one knows or even cares about by other people who are known as great contributors to society publicly while privately committing heinous acts that will likely never be exposed. 

May they rot in the deepest corners of Hell. 

“Special Ops...usually secret missions...” he says on an exhale, remaining as vague as possible “....and if I tell ya much more about it, pal, I might have t'kill you.” He doesn't say it as a joke either, because it isn't. Not that he'd willingly kill Seth himself, but it doesn't mean that _they_ won't. They've killed people who've found out too much about him before. Connected him to the Winter Soldier Project or to HYDRA. It's why he'd been extra careful not to reveal much if anything of himself while living in Quebec City. The people in his apartment complex hadn't known his real name. Of course, he hadn't really even remembered it himself when he'd first gone there to inquire about a vacancy. He'd wound up signing 'Ryan McGraw' on the lease agreement because he'd seen a marquee for some classic film called _Love Story_ at a downtown theater just a few hours before.

It all seems somewhat futile now though. Especially since not knowing anything about him hadn't saved Nola Nordstrom's life, or her son's. 

“So, were your hands injured in combat?” the young writer asks, nodding toward the black leather gloves that Bucky has on. “I mean, I know you probably wear them for cycling, but most bikers that come in here take theirs off so they can feel how cold the beer is before drinking it.”

Bucky's lips bend into a little smile. “Well, shit. You're certainly _observant_ enough to be a newspaper columnist.”

“Thanks?” Seth smiles back, “Or at least I _think_ that was meant to be a compliment.”

Bucky doesn't clarify for him whether it was meant to be taken that way or not. 

“I lost my arm.” he states flatly....honestly, staring at the bubbly amber liquid in his glass instead of looking at Seth. “Left side. I'm still a little self-conscious about the prosthetic.” And that's not a lie at all. He can remember how angry he'd been when he'd first realized exactly what they'd done to him. The metal. It didn't even look like anything that should've been attached to a human being. At the time, Bucky more or less saw it as a reflection of what they considered him to be. A robot. A machine. An instrument to be used and then put away in storage until it was needed again. 

_A weapon._ Without thoughts and feelings. 

“I'm really sorry about that, Bucky.” the blond man says sincerely. “Guess all I can do is thank you for your sacrifices. Seriously, man....thanks for your service. If it wasn't for you brave, honorable folks risking your lives, this whole country would've been in piss poor shape a long damn time ago. You're a hero.”

And Bucky's throat suddenly feels so tight that he doesn't dare speak. Just nods quietly and lifts his glass in a silent salute to the kid before downing the rest of what's inside it. 

Seth is in the middle of polishing off his own beer when he nearly chokes on it, big eyes flashing toward the bar's entrance before quickly shifting away again. “Holy shit, dude! I know shouldn't even be checking her out, happily married as I am and all....but hot redhead alert at four o'clock. Just walked in...looks like some serious fucking business, too! _Goddamn it_. I almost envy the guy she came in here lookin' for....” 

A slow half grin forms on Bucky's face. He doesn't even need to turn around and look to know who it is. He can literally _feel_ her presence. And it either means he's forgiven or that she's come here to kick his ass. 

Or maybe both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	14. Chapter 14

**************************************

**Chapter Fourteen**

 

Making a quick decision to stick with the story, Bucky gives Seth a slight nudge when he sees Natasha headed their direction from the corner of his eye. “Watch this.” he says softly before twisting around on the barstool to look her over from head to toe with clear appreciation as she pauses just a few feet away from them. “Hey, baby. Lookin' for some action tonight?”

Natasha's perfectly coral-blushed lips turn upward into a smirk. “Not from you, stranger.” Her green eyes then shift a smoldering look to Seth, “Your little friend there, on the other hand....seems like he might be more _my_ type.”

Bucky's first instinct is to laugh, especially when he notices that Seth is now visibly trembling in his size eights. 

“Nah, sweetheart...he's happily married. Aren't you, Seth?”

“Uh, y...y... _yes_.” the young writer stammers, large eyes still glued to Natasha.

Playing right into Bucky's game, the way she's always had a natural instinct for doing, Nat moves in close to the leather-clad ex-assassin and slides her arms around his waist beneath the biker jacket. 

She's ready to teach him a lesson. And she's going to have a damn good time doing it. 

“Umhmm....well, I thought _you_ were, too, Handsome....” she coos warmly into the crook of his neck “....but then you left the house without even giving me a goodbye kiss. Which means that you now owe me a night filled with lots of sweaty make-up sex, so I hope somebody took their vitamins today like a good boy.”

 _Goddamn her_ , Bucky thinks as he feels the first stirrings of something dangerously akin to excitement twitch beneath the fly of his jeans. She's always had an uncanny talent for being able to turn him into a big puddle of libido-charged goo, even just by using a certain tone of voice.

He tries to distract himself from the growing sensation, and _fast_. 

“Um, Seth, in case you're wondering what the hell is going on here....” Bucky says to his stunned bar buddy, “....I'd like you to meet my wife Natalie. Nat, this is Seth....the writer.”

“That's either a very funny last name, or you actually do write, Seth.” Natasha grins at the young blond man. 

“Uh, yyyeah...I...um....I...I do. I write....” he stumbles, clumsily readjusting his seating on the bar stool. 

“Hopefully better than you talk.” she deadpans. 

Wrapping his left arm around Nat's waist to pull her even closer to him, mainly to see just how far he can take their undercover roles before she calls him on it, Bucky playfully chides, “Aw, honey....be nice. Seth's a terrific guy.”

“I don't doubt that.” She directs her next words to Seth, “But if you wanna _remain_ terrific, Seth, don't let my hubby be a bad influence on you. He has a natural gift for corruption.”

“You should know.” Bucky says, mocking the same line she'd shot at him earlier during their little fight.

“Mудак.” (“Asshole.”)

“Bести себя.” he responds in warning, lips twitching into a slight grin, “Unless you want a spanking.”

“Bring it on, Lover.” Natasha whispers, voice husky...hot breath tickling strands of dark hair against the shell of his ear. 

It makes Bucky shiver. Holy fuck, and he wishes like hell that they weren't just role-playing right now.

Seth gulps down the rest of his beer and chuckles, “Don't know what language you two are speaking, but it sounds like you should probably get a room. Meanwhile, _I_ should probably get goin'....” He moves to get down from the bar stool and damn near topples over until Bucky's right arm shoots out to grab his shoulder and help steady him. “Shit! Thanks, Buck....those beers went to my head faster than I thought they would. I'm such a goddamn lightweight....”

Just like Steve was in the olden days, Bucky recalls, when his small size had made him want to drink more than he should've just to prove that he could keep up with the big guys. Bucky remembers practically carrying his best buddy home from the pub after those kinds of nights out. He can't let this kid drive home in that condition either. 

His big blue eyes turn to Nat, who already seems to have come to the same conclusion. 

“Here.” She pries herself out of his grasp to drop a set of car keys into the hand he'd been practically groping her with, “Give your boyfriend a safe ride home and _I'll_ take the Harley.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Turns out that Seth Finnegan is a chatty drunk, even more so than he'd been in the bar, and Bucky finds out a lot more about him during the drive home. He doesn't really mind it though, because the nonstop stream of words sort of help keep his mind out of its darkest places, particularly given what had happened to Nola Nordstrom and her son earlier that day. 

Having arrived at Seth's house, Bucky sits there behind the steering wheel after sending the kid to the front door with a 'see ya, pal' and the half-gallon of blue marble they'd picked up on the way, and watches as his pretty, pregnant wife Emmy greets him with a smile, a big hug and then a kiss. 

Looks like all's forgiven and well at the Finnegan homestead, and the sight warms Bucky's heart in a way that he'd never expected it to. He pulls the Bugatti Veyron— _leave it to Natalia to have driven one of the most expensive cars in that garage to some dive bar_ —away from the quiet little neighborhood's curb and speeds off into the night, hoping that he'll never see Seth, Emmy or any of their growing family again, because they'll all be far more safe without the curse of his presence in their lives. 

After punching the entrance code into a hidden keypad that can only be accessed via thumbprint ID, the first thing that happens to Bucky isn't the welcoming, forgiving kind of greeting that Seth had gotten. Instead, he's grabbed by his right arm with a sharp knee driven into the side of his torso and then scissored between a pair of powerful thighs, flipping him head first into a forward roll that sends him barreling along the tiles like a tumbleweed catapulted across the desert floor by a strong gust. 

Bucky bounces and leaps up from the roll as gracefully as an acrobat, just in time to see the little desert wind hand spring from the floor to wipe a few fallen strands of dark red hair from her gorgeous, heart-shaped face, which isn't flushed at all, by the way, but cool and filled with contempt as she glares at him. 

“The hell was that for?” he asks, running a hand through his own tousled locks. 

“For walking out on me the way you did this evening, as well as for that little ass grab you attempted at the bar.” she turns to stalk away down an adjoining corridor, calling back to him. “Very cute, Barnes!”

He follows her. “It happens to be called _role-playing_ , Romanoff!”

And Bucky knows that if they were married for real, he'd expect nothing less than the kind of greeting he'd actually gotten from Nat....which oddly enough, warms his heart every bit as much as witnessing the way Seth Finnegan's wife had welcomed him home. 

*****************************************************


	15. Chapter 15

***************************************

**Chapter Fifteen**

It's been nearly two weeks since the Nordstrom mass murders and suicide, and not much else has come to light about the tragedy....

That's certainly not for Natasha's lack of trying. No, definitely not for that. Because Bucky's beginning to feel like a virtual widower, as ridiculous as that may sound. It's like he's losing a little bit more of her the deeper she dives into this case, giving her undivided attention to it. And it's not that he isn't appreciative of her trying to help him solve the mystery either, although his gut had already told him HYDRA was behind it even before they'd known exactly what Vernon Nordstrom was chanting in Russian while firing on that crowd in the shopping mall. 

Despite Bucky's personal feelings, Nat's a great spy and when it comes to putting puzzles together, there's nobody he trusts more than her....but it's a conflict of interests because he also feels at the time that his whole existence has become even more of a puzzle than it's ever been before, and there's an obvious piece missing. 

A missing puzzle piece with soft skin and a razor sharp wit, and who has barely spoken a word to him for the past few days as she's been so preoccupied logging into her secret websites and pouring over newspapers and books and all possible forms of printed research, making calls for favors to that asshat Benning and other sources in DC and Dallas and Los Angeles, and Bucky's tried to pull her away from it for at least an occasional break or two because he thinks she needs to get her mind out of it once in a while...

And because he's really starting to miss her. 

Not that he can exactly tell her that. It's becoming crystal clear to Bucky that she's been more distant with him lately, and the case is not entirely to blame for it. Her fear is the culprit. She'd gotten spooked by their 'almost kiss' in the kitchen that day....the intimate moment that had been shattered by Fury's impeccably bad timing....and Bucky's been sort of reliving it as well as mentally kicking himself in the ass for it ever since. 

But it's not something he can really help. Natalia, for him, is like drawing breath. She's like movement and thought. Just as natural as those things taken for granted by most everyone, but he never takes her for granted. He never will. If only because he's been deprived of her presence in his life so many times....and for far too many wasted years. Through all the horrors suffered courtesy his imprisonment and torture, things he'll probably never be able to fully tell anyone about, he'd thought of her. A _lot_. Had imagined and possibly even hallucinated her there with him, holding his hand afterward to comfort him until he either finally passed out or just drifted into a vast, black unawareness of the pain. 

He used to hold on...grasp desperately to life, his primary motivation being the moment when they'd be together again. The reason he hadn't tried to find her immediately after escaping HYDRA was his secret hope that she'd found a way out. Had finally managed to rid herself of her own demons....that she'd broken free from the KGB underground. That hope had been temporarily dashed once he'd discovered that she'd found and was spying on him in Quebec City, however. But then she'd simply kept quiet vigil from a distance instead of targeting him. 

And Bucky knew Natalia well enough to know that if she'd been sent to kill him, she likely would've done so without delay. 

So once again, her presence, though slightly perplexing, had become somewhat of a comfort. 

_“Are you going to try to take me in, or were you just sent here to kill me?”_

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I'm gonna shave my head.”

Natasha's not entirely sure she'd heard him right. She's mid-instant message conversing with Clint's wife Laura, computer perched on her folded legs as she sits on her bed, when the sound of his baritone startles her. 

_Ladyhawk79: I'm not usually a grammar Nazi, but I couldn't even make out that last thing you just typed. Lol_

_Ginger Snapped: Sorry, hahaha. My friend here said something that distracted me._

_Ladyhawk79: Wow. He must really be cute. :D_

_Ginger Snapped: :P_

Her green eyes flash up from the computer screen to see Bucky standing in her bedroom doorway, his arms folded defiantly. “What did you just say?”

“You like the long hair, right?” he asks. 

“I think you already know that.”

“How am I supposed to know if you never say so?” When she only responds by twisting up her lips, he continues, “Doesn't matter anyway, I'm going to cut it short, and after I hack it off, I'll shave myself bald.”

He looks so serious that she's more than a little scared to accuse him of bluffing. He looks beautiful, too, albeit pissed off, standing there in his dark jogging pants and light gray and navy, short-sleeved T-shirt...hair damp from a shower, but still thick and glorious and hanging to his shoulders. 

Natasha has a fleeting thought about running her fingers through it.

“Why would you do that?” she inquires carefully, not unlike the tone of voice she'd use if attempting to talk a potential jumper off of a high ledge. 

“I'm protesting.”

“You mean projecting?” 

“No, I _mean_ protesting.” Bucky reiterates. “I'm putting my foot down.”

“Better be careful that there's not a great big sticky wad of gum there first.” 

He ignores the jab. “Inga's baking a Spinach-Parmesan souffle that smells like Heaven. It's beautiful outdoors and probably one of the last warm days we have left to enjoy before Winter sets in this year. Dinner'll be served at seven on the West balcony, third floor. We're having champagne with it, so dress nice.” He turns to walk away, but pauses for a second to add over his shoulder, “Oh, and if you _don't_ show up, the hair goes. I'll see you then.” 

Natasha sits there on her bed for a long moment, just staring in disbelief at the empty doorway once he's vacated it. 

_Ladyhawk79: Nat? Are you still there? Is everything okay?_

_Ginger Snapped: Yeah, fine. But I think I just got blackmailed into a date._

_Ladyhawk79: OMG!! Do tell._

_Ginger Snapped: I'll have to fill you in later. Right now I guess I'd better go get dressed. :)_

****************************************** 


	16. Chapter 16

**************************************

**Chapter Sixteen**

 

Their safe houses's regular staff consists of two cooks, six housekeepers—two for each level of the mansion—and outdoor and indoor maintenance crews. Fifteen people in all who have special security clearance from Colonel Fury himself, and each one has a history working for the US government in some capacity. And although these trusted individuals are discreet and professional through and through, they're also human....and Inga, the middle-aged blonde chef with a German background and jovial giggle, is yet another woman who has undoubtedly fallen under Bucky's spell. 

There have been a lot of them over the years, and Natasha usually has very little patience for them. But not this time. 

Because it's no secret that James has also developed quite the crush on this sweet lady who treats him like he's a cross between the second coming of Christ and a fuzzy pet kitten, and will go out of her way to whip up absolutely any culinary delight his hungry little heart desires when she's in control of the kitchen. 

So apparently tonight it's a special meal that Natasha has to agree smells like it was delivered straight from the angels as soon as the delectable mix of seasoned aromas waft through the warm breeze that brushes her nose and cheeks when she steps out onto the balcony. 

She chances another glance at her platinum cuff-watch. Six fifty-seven. Fashionably on time without seeming too eager or nervous even though she's feeling a little of both. 

His back to her, Bucky is standing at the railing on the far end of the balcony overlooking the rolling green hills and ocean, and the moment he turns around to see her walking toward him, the ease and sexiness of his smile takes her breath away. 

_Goddamn it, how does he still manage to make her feel this way?_

“Well, I'm definitely not overdressed.” Nat says, going for the casual compliment although her pulse is already quickening in the base of her throat at the sight of him dressed in a classic black tux and bow-tie with a crisp white shirt, the beloved mass of dark hair still intact and falling in natural waves that frame his angular features. 

His steel blue eyes sweep over her mid-thigh length lilac cocktail dress, its beaded bodice fitted at her tiny waist and delicately hugging the curves of her breasts before spilling from her shoulders to reveal a tantalizing amount of creamy skin. Her deep red hair is pulled up into a french roll that accentuates the length of her neck, the few wispy curls straying loose from the hairline and temples giving her a look of youth that remind Bucky just how young she still is despite her years of expertise and experience. 

“You're so gorgeous.” he states honestly, openly, reaching out his right hand to gently take her left into it. “As for me, Inga measured me and then ordered the tux by somehow putting it on the safe house specialty menu account?” 

Natasha giggles, “How very nice of your girlfriend to finagle government records just to help set up your date with me.” she blinks innocently, “Oh, wait...I'm not wrong, am I? I mean, that's what this is, right? A _date?_ ”

“You betcha.” He guides her to the railing at his side to peer out at the cresting waves as they crash against the slate-colored rocks lining the shore. “So, what'd ya think? Is this a perfect evening or what?”

“It really is....” she turns to gaze up at him in confusion, “...but, James, what is all this about? Seriously.” 

“I thought I was the one with memory problems. Didn't we just establish that this is a date?”

“I'm talking about the ulterior motive.”

“Geez, you're such an agent.” he jokes, and lets out a quiet sigh, “ _Okay_ , so it's also about finally getting you away from that damn case for more than a couple minutes....” then looks at her again, his gaze softening “...and reminding you that you're human, not a machine. Honestly, sweetheart, you can't keep that up...working at that pace. You'll burn yourself out, and that's the last thing you need. Didn't SHIELD teach you anything?”

“Wow...” Natasha quirks a brow, “... _that's_ different, especially coming from you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Asset...the soldier previously known as James Barnes was one of the toughest instructors I had in the Red Room...all about pushing oneself to the limit. Perseverance. Endurance. Never backing down, quitting or giving up. No rest for the weary, and certainly not for someone whose mission hadn't been completed.” She pauses when she notices how he's staring at her, as though she's stating facts to him about a total stranger. “I'm sorry....”

“No....there's no reason to be. You're right.” His eyes shift to the ocean again and he watches for a long silent moment, nothing but the distant sound of the waves filling the warm silence between them. “But that was more about the state of mind I was in at the time, Nat...and about getting you out of there alive. And even though survival mode is still a big part of me, mainly because it's been a necessity for so long, I'm starting to realize that I'm not quite the same person I was back then. Or maybe even before then. I don't know. It's like I get that guy's memories and can _sorta_ relate to who he was and what his motives were, but I'm just not so sure that that's entirely who I am anymore. It's hard to explain....”

She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You don't have to. I understand the state of feeling detached from yourself more than most people probably think.”

“I know you do.” he says, biting his bottom lip before issuing a small grin. “Add it to the list of reasons we've always made sense, Natalia....whatever it is that exists between us. We just fit. It never took any real effort to make it work. It just did...and _does_.”

Fully facing him now, her fingers entwining with his, Nat gazes into Bucky's eyes. “So, is the real reason we're on this “date” right now still just because you wanted to draw me away from the Nordstrom case for awhile?”

He gives a slight nod. “That, and because I miss spending time with you.”

“Well, you don't have to anymore, I promise.” she responds, her heart melting as she's reminded why she ever fell in love with him years ago. Clutching his arm, she leans into him with a smile. “Now, let's eat. I don't think I can resist Inga's food for much longer.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When the ringer sounds off, it rattles her nerves so badly that she nearly spills hot tea all over herself. After unsteadily putting the cup and saucer down, flustered, she snatches the phone off the coffee table to look at it. The number is familiar, but it's not someone that she's happy to hear from. 

She doesn't get those kind of messages anymore. 

“What do you want?” she asks upon answering, her voice raspy as it comes from a throat that feels too dry to allow her to speak properly. Almost too dry to even breathe. 

“It's time to initiate Phase Three.” he says to her. 

“Have you located him yet?”

“We're certain that he's still with Romanoff. We have a general area, shouldn't be too difficult to locate precisely with further assistance from our sources. But first....”

“I _know_.” she closes her eyes in frustration. “I know what needs to be done next. And I'm ready.”

“That's good. We're holding the decoy in a safe place. It's a shame, she's such a pretty and agreeable young thing. Doesn't yet know the vital role she'll play in helping the growth of our cause.”

It sickens her to think of the poor girl who'd been missing for several days and what will happen to her soon. “You and von Halkein seem to believe that this will work. I have put my trust in you, so I hope you can deliver.”

“It should be of no concern to you.”

“Yet it is.”

“Then you waste your time worrying.” his voice bites into her ear. 

“Such arrogance." she dares to state to her caller. "He's been enhanced far beyond the limits of most men, unlike your test subjects. What if the device doesn't activate him? Or even the same as HYDRA was able to do? What then?”

“You leave that to us, my dear. Just be prepared to do your part. No more questions.”

“As I said before, I am ready.” 

“Very well. I'll be in touch again soon.”

The connection dies in her ear. She immediately shuts the phone off and places it on the table again, thrusting it as far away from her as possible...as though she can rid her mind of the filth further muddying it with every call and instruction received. 

She thinks of Bucky and how sweet and gentle he'd always been while in her company. Just a soft-spoken, slightly awkward man trying to live life on his own again. Shopping at street markets and cooking meals that he'd usually eaten alone, or washing his few clothes in the complex's laundry rooms, listening as she'd chattered on about her days at work. Paying such close attention to any of those phony details she'd fed him. Phony details from the phony life she was supposedly living. Even down to the “abusive” boyfriend she'd taken up with. Totally fake because she'd actually only pretended to be into the whole hitting kink in order to get that asshole interested enough to stick around. In actuality, she'd hated letting Neal Ward touch her for five months straight, but it had been necessary. 

The Winter Soldier beating the hell out of him in that alley had been a sweet payback for her having had to allow the disgusting bastard to have his way with her. It had also been all she'd needed to know that the plan was working. 

The Soldier was actually beginning to care for her. 

HYDRA hadn't managed to kill every ounce of his humanity after all. That discovery had been the only way they could know for sure that the rest of their plans would work; the ones that included Vernon and Nola Nordstrom....and now the next phase to be initiated. 

The one involving the murder and mutilation of Bucky Barne's former neighbor, Cynthia Baxter. 

 

**********************************************


	17. Chapter 17

***************************************

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

Natasha reminds herself for the fourth...fifth or maybe even tenth time that the champagne will effect her in ways that it can't Bucky, so she really needs to put in that extra effort to keep her head on straight....

No hearts worn on sleeves. No emotional baggage bullshit. To just relax, have fun and enjoy the moment. 

Taking it easy on the bubbly beverage is proving to be a real challenge though, especially since it tastes so damn good. Feels good, too...dancing over her tongue and trickling down her throat...chilled to perfection. Just enough chill to contrast the warm breeze rustling the luxurious fabric of the dress she's wearing against her skin as they walk the beach side by side. Both with their feet bare...enjoying the slight cooling of the sand between their toes. 

It had been Bucky's idea to carry their little 'party' out to the shore to properly bask in the perfection of a deep golden sun reflecting on the water's surface as it starts to set. 

And Natasha hadn't objected to the suggestion at all. Would probably have followed him anyplace. Particularly looking the way he does now as he walks along beside her....long and lean with cool, slow strides, his bow tie hanging loose around his collar and shirt tails pulled out from the waist of his trousers...that glorious dark hair billowing in the wind that bounces off the waves. 

“So, tell me, James Buchanan...what the hell are we doing way out here?” she asks with a lighthearted giggle, removing her eyes from him for a moment to peer with a squint through the sparkling liquid in her glass as she raises it skyward...admiring how it alters the shapes of the clouds. 

“Are you drunk?” Bucky smirks, side-eyeing her suspiciously while thinking how absolutely adorable she is with those few long curls falling free from the rest of her up-swept hairdo. 

As breathtaking as their current surroundings are, he thinks, they're nothing compared to Natalia. It's also not lost on him how she even matches the whole outdoor scene, her skin satiny smooth like the sand, hair as red as the fiery clouds trailing the sun to the horizon and her dress almost the precise hue of the fading sky as it surrenders its brightness to the coming night. Natalia...all grace and beauty and vivid color in motion, with her high heels dangling from one hand and champagne glass clutched in the other. 

Almost empty champagne glass, that is. _Again_. 

“No, I'm not drunk!” Nat protests. 

“I'll be damned if you're not.” he teases her. 

“Guess you're doomed to be damned then because I'm not drunk....just feeling a little bit _floaty_.” she corrects, secretly wondering if floaty is a real word. “Besides, I ate too much for the champagne to do the kind of damage it normally would. That Inga's one helluva cook, Dad. You should marry her so we can eat like that all the time.”

“Don't think her husband would agree.”

“Meh, you're probably right. Guess you'll just have to keep romancing her on the downlow.”

“On the what- _who? _” His eyes turn to slits, “Down low. Does that mean something dirty?”__

“Not literally down _low_ , Sweetie....but on the sly. You know, like in secret?” 

“Ah...” he nods, “...gotcha.”

Nat shakes her head with a grin. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Paw-Paw.” 

“Have I told ever you that you take the Daddy kink thing to a whole new level sometimes? It's a little disturbing.” 

“Oh, yeah? And here I thought I was just keeping up with the trends. After all, Daddy kinks are starting to be all the rage on Tumblr.” 

Bucky considers that for a moment, starts to ask how a tumbler in any way correlates to calling somebody Daddy, but then shrugs it off. “Never mind. I probably don't even wanna know.” 

Having been too observant to miss his puzzled expression, she quips, “I see right now that I'm gonna have to give you a lesson in Pop Culture along with the one about current technology.” 

“Must you though? I mean _really_ , why can't I just keep relying on you for all that annoying tech crap?” 

“Lesson one, remember that thing I told you about blending with society? Well, I was talking about _modern_ society, and big part of that entails actually learning to understand and speak the lingo. It's hard to blend in when you sound like you stepped out of the 1940s. That said, nice use of the word 'tech'. Color me mildly impressed.” 

The playful chastisement makes Bucky smile so that the little crinkles show at the outer corners of his eyes. “How did _Steve_ ever manage it? Or has he?” 

“As far as I can tell, he's not doing so bad.” Nat shrugs, “Still has his Humphrey Bogart moments, but for the most part, he gets by.” 

“Why am I not surprised? He always has been a survivor, even before the big freeze'N'thaw made everybody else in the world aware of it.” 

She gives him a long, contemplative look, nudging an elbow against his arm. “You starting to remember more about your past...y'know, before HYDRA?” 

“It comes and goes...” he says softly, then adds with a crooked grin, “...just like with the microwave.” 

“Hey, don't you worry about that. We'll conquer all those little things together, one day at a time...” she takes another sip of her champagne, “...just like with the microwave.” 

“Together, huh?”

“Sure, why not? We're comrades, right?” 

“That's right.” Bucky nods. He stops walking and turns to look directly into her eyes, releasing a deep breath, “So, in the tradition of sharing things, like one does with a one's "comrade", maybe you should know that I read through all those notes I've written down almost every morning...just as sort of a back-up measure to remind myself of some stuff I might've remembered the day before.” He tugs another button loose near his collar with the metal hand, smiling at Nat, “There are some things about you written in the notes, too.” 

“Uh-oh....” she grins before swallowing the last of the liquid remaining in her glass. 

“No, nothing bad. Just little things I remember. Sometimes I can't be sure if I'm remembering them right though. Y'know, like if it's an authentic memory or something HYDRA might've planted there. They did that once in a while, mainly false stuff about certain targets. Made me feel like my kills were more justified at times. I don't really know why they even bothered with that. It's not like they had any concern about my conscience.” 

“They did the same thing to me in the Red Room... _sometimes_.” Natasha confirms for him. “Back then I thought it was more an experiment in mind manipulation than anything else, but since I've realized it was just another way of twisting and bending the truth. HYDRA probably did it to you for the same reason. Give the assassin a false motive for their kills in case they're ever caught and interrogated by another government or covert agency. Makes them less likely to implicate the ones who deployed them for the mission.” 

“Hmm...” he frowns, “That makes sense, I guess....” 

Noting that his stare has gone vacant again before her eyes, complete with that lost expression and the looming cloud of sadness that often threatens to overtake him, Natasha changes the subject. “ _Hey_. So, are you gonna tell me what you've written about me, or do I have to wait in suspense? _Or_ are we going to make it a guessing game? You can't just say something like that and then drop it, James. It's no fair....and you know I won't let it go.” 

Swiftly recovering from the somber moment, Bucky's lips turn up slightly more at the corners. “Belfast, 2003. Holywood Pier. You remember that?” 

Without warning, Natasha feels a slight tightness in her throat as her beautiful smoky green eyes go wide and sparkle with a sudden surge of emotion. “Of course, I do. I'm kind of amazed that _you_ remember it though.” 

“Yeah, parts of it I do.” Looking around, he makes a sweeping gesture with his left hand causing a ray of sunlight to reflect off the metal exposed from the cuff of his shirt sleeve, “A different sunset....different coast. I remember standing there with you...with your hand in mine and how warm it felt against the chill in the air. If I'm remembering right, you'd just completed your first solo mission as a Widow....” 

“That's right.” she responds, gazing up at Bucky, “First big kill mission. It was a triple assassination, Irish dignitaries. I was sent out by Petrovich and Trovaya. They wanted me to make it look like the rebels were responsible, so they were pretty gruesome kills. I couldn't believe what I'd just done.” 

“What you'd been _forced_ to do.” Bucky corrects her. Then noticing the goose flesh forming on her upper arms, he shrugs off his tuxedo jacket and reaches out to drape it tenderly around her shoulders. “You said you were wondering how far you could make it if you dove off the pier and just started swimming until your limbs were too tired to carry you any further. I was afraid you'd actually do it.” 

“That's why you stayed there....you never let go of me.” Natasha reminds him, her lips curling fondly at the memory. “You put your arms around me and we just stood there holding each other until the sun vanished....and then we went to Donegal Square and walked around talking until it started to come up again.” 

He smiles gently, “We had coffee and muffins in some little cafe as soon as they unlocked the doors. You remember that place, too?” 

“Yeah. It was called _BB's_. You made me eat and wouldn't stop nagging me until I'd finished.” 

“I didn't want you to starve any more than I'd wanted you to drown. Didn't want to let you out of my sight again either.” 

“And you didn't...” her smile fades, “...not until you _had_ to....” 

He brushes a few of those irresistible twisty curls away from her eyes with his right hand as the metal fingers tenderly grasp her shoulder. “Natalia, that's why we're here now....spending this time together. I don't want to waste another moment...lose another chance.” 

“I _know_. Neither do I.” 

“Then tell me what's been going on with you the past few days. You've been acting like I'm not even here.” 

“Bucky, it's because I'm scared, alright? It's unnerving as hell to know that somebody's probably been tailing you....watching you this entire time...tracking every move you make, even while I was _there_ , and I didn't see it! How could I have missed something like that? It just doesn't make any sense....” 

“It has to be HYDRA....but, listen, let's not talk about...” 

“But _how?_ ” she interjects, unable to stop venting now that what's bothering her most has been touched on. “Why would they let you run? They've never let us get this far before. I think if it was them, they would've tried to take you before I was even able to get you out of the city, let alone the country...and yet nothing happens until you've been gone for nearly half a month. That thing with Vernon Nordstrom...it doesn't add up...” 

Bucky releases a small sigh, “Oh, Nat, c'mon, please....you gotta stop this...” 

“Stop?” 

“You're falling right back into it again. This case and everything about it is consuming you....” 

“How can it _not?_ ” she asks, her resolve to remain calm wavering as she shows far more vulnerability and emotion than she'd intended. More anger. “You think you're the only one who has scars left from every time they've taken you and wiped your mind and then put you back inside that goddamn ice prison? For as much as it frightens and wounds you, James, and I _know_ it does....I'm the one who's always left behind and aware of everything that's happening! Forced to keep living and grieving....only to have them tell me that I'm a Widow in more than title only, and that their ability to extract you from my life anytime they feel like it is just another way to prove that. And I...I just don't know if I can do it anymore. I _can't_....” her voice finally breaks. 

His heart shattering, Bucky takes her into his arms as she leans into him. “Hey, hey....listen...I'm sorry, okay?” 

“No. _No_ , Bucky....I don't want you to be sorry.” she says softly, relishing the warmth of his embrace. When she looks at him again, she reaches up to gently place the palm of her hand against the side of his face, “I just want you to be _here_.” 

“I am, sweetheart. I'm here.... _now_.” he responds, gaze piercing hers. “And there's no place I want to be more.” 

And this time when the kiss comes, it's accompanied by the roar of the waves and the hazy glow of an amber sky mirrored on the watery horizon. And the atmosphere, the sight of that...beautiful as it is, is nothing compared to the comfort and the longing....the solid warmth as their bodies join and press together. _Finally_. No space at all left to separate them or the two hearts that pound fiercely as they sync to create one, hypnotic rhythm. 

******************************************************** 


	18. Chapter 18

*******************************************

**Chapter Eighteen**

 

 _Sensations._ So many at once, stirring, awakening inside her...and it feels like every nerve ending in her body is on high alert. The way she can feel him and the various textures of him. Firm muscles rippling beneath his clothing. His lips soft as they slant against hers...the feeling of his thick silky hair wound in her hands. The slight scratch of stubble peppering his angular jawline and how much she loves tracing the adorable little cleft in his chin with her thumbs as they kiss. 

_The many textures of James._

His metal arm is warm, unlike what most people would probably imagine. It never has felt cold to Natasha though, even when exposed to the frigid winters of Moscow. The Asset's top secret specs had informed her that the arm is equipped with heating sensors that can adjust to his body temperature as well as adapt to the temperatures around him. 

But Nat believes it just radiates the same temperature as its owner's heart. 

And at the moment everything about him almost feels like fire to her. His body close to hers...hot breath tickling the base of her throat as his mouth lingers on the pulse point there for a little taste while his fingers ease the zipper down in back of her cocktail dress. She doesn't even need to step out of the garment when it falls around her ankles, because he lifts her at the same time she practically climbs him...her slender arms slung over top of his broad shoulders with her bare thighs riding on his hips as he pedals them toward the bed. 

When he eases her down to the mattress, she feels a fleeting twinge of guilt about the scar if only because she'd already made up her mind a while ago to lie to him about it. 

And after he spots the remnants of the injury and asks, “What happened here?” she does precisely that. 

“An old wound from an old mission. Wasn't as bad as it looks.” _Only it had been bad._ Both Fury and her surgeon had been amazed that the shooter had somehow managed to miss all of her vital organs while inflicting a kill shot to the person she'd been covering from his line of fire. And even though no permanent damage that been done, it'd still bled like a bitch. 

He hovers over her, the tips of his flesh fingers ghosting carefully across the puffy rose-colored scar that rests about two and three-quarters of an inch left of her belly button. “Why didn't you tell me about it?” he frowns with concern, silver-blue eyes large and soul-probing as he gazes down at her in the faint golden lighting of the bedroom. 

_Goddamn it, don't do this to me, James. My heart can't take it._

“Because it doesn't concern you. It happened when you were gone and it's not like there's anything you could've done about it anyway.” she lies with a scowl that rivals his, adapting a harsh tone she hopes will redirect his attention. “So seriously. Don't fuck up the mood here, okay?”

Her tactic seems to work for the time being. 

His lips quirk into a slow, crooked grin at her chastisement as he lowers his head to whisper against her tummy, “Я скучал по тебе так много.” (“I've missed you so much.”) before pressing a gentle kiss directly to the scar. 

Normally, Natasha likes being the one to undress him. It's a huge turn on for her, having the power and privilege to peel away layers that conceal some of his vulnerabilities from the rest of the world. She enjoys being the only one that he actually allows to do it. To get so close...to touch him that intimately. 

Even as the Winter Soldier, he'd let her strip him of tactical garb, harnesses and holsters in that hotel room before she'd wound up pinned between him and the wall. 

But tonight, she feels his need to have complete control over the unveiling, and she's more than willing to fulfill that need. She doesn't want to risk overwhelming him even though she doesn't think there's much chance of it. Regardless, she reclines luxuriously against the creamy satin pillows, wearing only her tiny nude strapless bra and panty set, watching with interested anticipation as he unzips his trousers and then unbuttons the white dress shirt before peeling it from his muscled torso. 

She can barely wait to see and feel more of him, her whole body buzzing with excitement a little more for every article of clothing that he removes. 

“I hope you haven't forgotten how ugly this is...” he says softly once fully undressed, lying down on the mattress again, nestling in beside her, “...wouldn't want to re-traumatize you.” 

Natasha doesn't have to wonder what he's talking about. It's always been an issue for him. Not so much the cybernetic arm itself as the shards of angry reddened flesh surrounding it. It makes her heart ache that it still bothers him, probably even more than it had the first time he'd allowed her to remove his shirt to fully see the scars. If only because this time, he's totally aware and not in any altered state of mind. 

“James, please. Don't. There's not a goddamn thing about you that could ever be ugly...not to _me_.” she responds earnestly as she scoots closer, fingertips stroking the wavy dark strands of hair that rest against his temple. “The arm...the scars...they're parts of you that I've always known.....” _and loved_ , she wants to add. But even thinking about it scares her, so there's no way she can bring herself to verbally declare that much. 

Not quite yet. 

Just being this close to him, giving him what he needs....what they both want and need, will have to suffice for now. There will be time for words. 

_Later_. 

He moves over her with a soft moan, mouth crashing against hers....kisses deep and filled with an urgency Natasha hasn't experienced since their last time together. 

Their last time _really_ together. Not in Amsterdam...not that night with the soldier. 

The soldier didn't kiss. Not while in full mission mode. Kissing was too personal, too involved. Sex for him was merely a physical act, a function meant to purge the body of its troubling desires for comfort and release. A way to dispense of the trivial human feelings dwelling at the very depths of his subconscious so he could concentrate his undivided attention on his work and turning himself back over to his superiors once the mission was successfully completed. 

She'd known what it would be like with him when she'd broken into his suite that evening. They'd fought at first, grappled for dominance because he'd assumed she was there to kill him for the Prime Minister's assassination. Honestly, at the time she knew that she should've done precisely that. Instead she'd seduced him, staring into his icy blue eyes the entire time he'd been thrusting into her....propelling them both along toward the edge while she'd kept hoping to see a flicker of recognition there instead of the snarling defiance. 

Not a flicker of The Asset recognizing Black Widow....but of James seeing his Natalia. 

She'd been longing for the look she sees in his sparkling eyes now as he caresses her lovingly, his hands roaming over her bare mid-riff, gliding upward from the firm planes of her stomach to her plump breasts. He doesn't say much. Doesn't need to, only the occasional quiet request muttered in Russian, his voice raspy and deep...expression on his face focused and appreciative as she complies with his wishes. 

Metal fingers sharply tug the clasp resting at the center of her bosom, snapping it with ease and her bra drops to the mattress, completely baring the soft mounds of tender flesh for him. Perched on his knees, Bucky pulls her to him roughly, head dipping to take one nipple between his lips, teasing its tip, his hot tongue flicking over and around it as his right hand cups and gently squeezes her other breast. 

She holds onto him, fingers digging into the thick waves of dark hair as she presses light kisses to his hairline, temples and top of his head, her thighs parting to straddle his. She can feel his burgeoning erection probing the dampening crotch of her panties. Tongue darting out to steal a taste of his lips when they kiss again, she thrusts her hips forward in order to feel more of him. 

“No.” Bucky issues a softly spoken, but firm command. “Not yet. Get down...on your stomach.” 

_Yes, Sarge!_ Nat thinks as she reluctantly eases out of his grasp, barely having to move at all on her own as his strong arms assist her; lifting, turning her until he's behind and coaxing her down so that her cheek rests against the smooth sheet covering the bed. Then there's the warm presence of his long body uncoiling over her shapely legs....lips and tongue moist, hot and exploring...up the backs of her calves and thighs, large hands groping, squeezing her ass, teeth gently nibbling, leaving a soft bite or two here and there....mouth weaving a trail of smoldering kisses up her spine, then against the back of her neck and upper line of her left shoulder blade

“Look at you....sexy as hell...so fucking beautiful, doll...” he says in a deep voice that is nearly a whisper against the shell of her ear. “There's so much I wanna do....”

“Do it.” she pleads, tone ragged and barely recognizable in her own ears as it flows on the quickening of her breathing. “Whatever you want, James.”

“I'm feeling very greedy right now, Natalia...” he responds, fingers moving to the back of her hair to gently extract the decorative clip still struggling to hold it into some semblance of her earlier upsweep. “я хочу все _это_.” (“I want it all.”)

And to her sexually heightened relief, he doesn't waste another second before taking exactly what he wants...so enraptured for her that he can't seem to get enough of any single part of her. She moans in satisfaction, bed sheets clenched in her fists as he rewards her aching, tingling flesh with tender squeezes, soft bites and wet kisses, his strong body moving, sliding against hers...the head and length of his cock teasing, pressing against the moisture of her throbbing center through the skimpy fabric of her underpants. 

More than anything, she wants to feel him inside her. Fucking _needs_ it, and by the time he coaxes her onto her back for him again, she's prepared to beg if necessary. 

He doesn't bother pulling her panties down, instead ripping the lacy sides with his fingers before freeing her of the final pesky garment keeping her concealed from him. Then he's crouched low on the mattress like a prowling beast and her legs are hoisted onto the expanse of his shoulders before his head dips between them. 

Natasha gasps, fingers grasping and caressing his silky hair as he proceeds to finally satisfy his hunger to taste her in a way that he hasn't been allowed to in far too long. How the hell could she have forgotten this....what it feels like to have his sensually lush mouth pleasuring the delicate folds of her womanhood, the tip of his tongue flicking over the throbbing bud hidden between. 

She writhes beneath him, half from desire and the rest from frustration as the deep ache inside her core intensifies with every wet kiss and lick he inflicts, that maddening laser-focus of his that's been used for killing over more than the past few decades, now trained entirely on completing a mission for sexual gratification this time. 

She can barely control herself, and when she feels the vibration of his deep, satisfied moans buzzing against her clitoris, her hips jerk sharply, back arching from the mattress as a series of light tremors flutter through her body. 

“ _Grrrr_....ah, goddamn it, Bucky...please....” she chokes out, lids squeezed shut as nerve flares explode like lights behind them...her hands clasping his head as she shudders against him “...do it, oh... _my god_ , please....I need you inside me....I need you...”

Through her heavy breathing and rapidly beating heart, she hears another familiar sound; the quiet, electronic hum of his metal arm in the darkening bedroom, its smooth warm fingers sliding up the right side of her torso as his body moves to cover hers. Then resting the brunt of his weight on the cybernetic limb, Bucky takes his pulsing erection into his right hand and teases its firm tip into her creamy slit, stroking her throbbing bud with it a few times before thrusting his hips forward, making the blossom of her center gradually widen enough for the full length of his shaft to ease inside her. 

Yes... _this_ she does remember! It all comes rushing back to her in heated, vivid clarity; the hot, slick stiffness of him and how completely he fills her. The perfect fit, if slightly painful at first, but never enough to turn her off wanting and needing more of it. Always more. _Deeper, faster, harder_....there aren't enough words to describe all the many ways she fucking wants to feel him move inside her, and it's not like the damn words are ever needed at all, because he instinctively knows how to please her and exactly what to do. He hits every single mark. 

Just like he always has.

Natasha is wrapped around him, breathing heavily, her plush mouth sucking at his neck....strong legs clinging to his hips as they pump between her thighs, the sweet, wet friction filling her and building, driving so deep as the thick, slippery head of his cock pounds a steady, merciless rhythm against her aching core. 

She hisses out some colorful words in Russian when his metal arm suddenly wraps around her back to sweep her up from the mattress and onto his muscled thighs as he shifts into an upright position, the change deepening his thrusts inside her as well as creating a new point of pleasure where her clit slides wetly along the top of his length while they fuck. 

Dark red waves spill partway over her deep green eyes, concealing half of her gorgeous, flushed face as she continues grinding feverishly against him, steadily riding...her lips moist and parted as she holds onto his wide shoulders and the throbbing inside her mounts again. Tossing her hair back to clear her sex-hazed vision in order to better see him, she watches as his beautiful, angular visage shimmers in the last hints of dying sunlight filtering into the room, long strands of hair clinging to his forehead and cheekbones as little beads of sweat glisten on his olive skin. She sees the heavy brows knit, eyes like liquid silver vanishing behind long-lashed eyelids that screw shut as his thick hardness jerks and twitches inside her. She loses the last of her coherent thought as she clutches tightly onto him, crying out as the walls of her core contract and squeeze him, her mind growing groggy and vision faint as her whole body is rocked by wild spasms that shudder around him, and clench and milk his cock of every ounce of cum it continues to pump as his thrusts gradually slow along with the waves of his orgasm. 

They hold onto one another for a few minutes, neither able to think clearly until Bucky finally collapses on the mattress, pulling Natasha along with him, and she winds up gasping, eyes still lightly fluttering behind closed lids as she rests her head on his damp chest. 

“Well... _fuck_....” he breathes out. 

Her lips curve into a lazy and satisfied smile. “Later, okay?” 

“Yeah. Okay.”

“That was pretty damn good for someone who's been out of practice for a while.”

“You mean, _you?_ ”

She giggles, nudging her elbow against his stomach. “Hey, don't get cute. Now that we've started having sex again, I can always punish you by holding out.”

“You'd be punishing yourself, too, though...and you know it.”

“Somebody sure sounds cocky.”

“You didn't have a problem with my cock a few seconds ago.”

“No, you're right. It didn't take me long to grow very fond of it again. Remind me why we ever stopped sleeping together before?”

“I sort of got thrown into a deep freezer.”

“Oh, yeah... _that_." she sighs comfortably as she feels him reach for the satin throw to pull over both their naked bodies. "Then let's never let that happen again, alright? Next time someone even tries, if they ever do, we take them down...and _good_.”

“'Kay...it's a deal.”

As the final hints of deep reddish amber give way to a clear black night in the panoramic view from the bedroom windows that neither of them see for their closed eyes, Bucky and Natasha are lulled into a warm and restfully sound sleep that's deep enough to carry them through the next few hours.

 

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	19. Chapter 19

***************************************

**Chapter Nineteen**

 

When he wakes up this time she's still fast asleep...and he allows himself the privilege to watch her, to bask in one quiet, breathtaking moment. An opportunity that he never imagined he'd have again, but had also never stopped secretly hoping for. 

Of course, the last time he'd opened his eyes had been a nice one, too. Feeling her body stir against his beneath the covers in the soothing darkness of their shared intimate space, arousing him. The warmth and depth of her kisses, the softness of her hands wrapped and stroking around his aching cock...the wet heat of her mouth taking him into it, drinking from and pleasuring him. She probably considered herself returning a favor she assumed he'd done for her earlier in the evening, but no....that pleasure had been very much entirely his. 

If only she could fathom just how much he'd missed the taste of her and longed to relish it again. The sweet, creamy flavor that was his Natalia. 

He'd thought of her often while he was in Quebec City....once he'd been able to remember that she was someone very significant in his past. But even prior to that he'd dreamed of her when he was finally able to close his eyes without the constant threat of night terrors. Kept having flashes of memory, too; of deep red hair that was sometimes worn long, and then other times cut to shoulder-length. A smile that didn't appear nearly often enough, but when it did, shone brighter than all the sunrises he'd missed for decades. He vaguely recalled her as a bewildered child who had absolutely no reason to be happy but seemed afraid to pout or complain. And then he remembered the defiant and wise-cracking young adult she'd grown into....and then finally as a full-grown woman who'd looked at him through changed eyes. 

The same beautiful emerald green, but very different in their wisdom and lack of innocence, as well as being filled with desire. 

He also remembered that she was forbidden to him. Constantly reminded himself that just because she was all grown up, didn't mean that she should be any different as far as his feelings were concerned. He was still her instructor. Her superior. Had helped train her to kill from the time when she was very young. A personal relationship wasn't permitted, nor was it advisable. She was his mission, and yet wouldn't allow herself to simply remain that. She'd touched and even stung his heart more than the others because within her he'd identified bits and pieces of a personality far too similar to what his own had once been.....

Before _they'd_ broken him. 

When all else had been said and done, he'd decided that he wasn't going to let her handlers break her, too.

Initially, letting himself love her in return had felt like some twisted kind of vengeance. And then it'd felt like redemption. Like regaining parts of the boy from Brooklyn and the man he'd grown into before all of HYDRA's evil had infiltrated his life and his soul. 

“You know, your staring at me would feel sort of creepy and stalkerish if you weren't so goddamn pretty.”

And then comes the smile again. The rare one that makes the streams of new sunlight filtering through the half-closed bedroom draperies seem dim in comparison. 

His heart melts as those metaphorical butterflies inside it dance around in a way they haven't done since he was a teenager experiencing his first crush....

Coincidentally, also a redhead. 

“Looks aside, doesn't the whole naked in bed together thing kind of cancel out whatever else we do being considered even remotely stalkerish?” he responds, stretching his long body beneath the satiny spread like a big, lazy cat uncoiling after a pleasant nap. 

She continues lying there on her side, facing him....gazing dreamily. “Your eyes are like mirrors.” she says softly, her voice still broken and raspy from sleep. 

It's one of the sexiest sounds Bucky has ever heard. He shifts further onto his side, shoving his right arm underneath the pillow so he can gaze at her adorably sleepy face, with its slightly upturned nose....which he leans in to plant a soft kiss on simply because he can't resist. 

“Don't you mean like windows?” he asks, “Like that saying, 'the eyes are windows to the soul'?”

“No, I mean like _mirrors_...because I can't really see what's going on behind them, but when I take a good, long look, I can see everything else there is reflected there. It's still revealing because it tells me a lot about how you see the world.”

“You know me better than anybody does, Angel...self included.” His expression darkens a bit. “Sometimes it bothers me....”

Her brows furrow. “Why would it bother you that I know you so well?”

“No. I don't mean that. It's just...I want a chance to remain aware long enough to get to know you the same as you do me. Maybe it's selfish, but I don't just want stolen moments anymore. Not just a few days here and there, or weeks....or even months. I want years, Natalia. Last night and this morning....wonderful as it all is, it just makes me want more. Is that so wrong?”

Moved, she reaches out to touch the side of his face...gently stroking strands of dark hair from his liquid eyes. “No, sweetie...it isn't wrong. It's probably what most people long for when they're together. And as much as we may have trouble believing it, maybe we're more like everybody else in that respect than we think.” She snuggles closer to Bucky, placing a soft kiss on his lips before gently resting her forehead against his. “Don't look so worried about it though, okay? Come on....grab a shower with me. I'm taking you shopping today.”

“Shopping?” he looks far from enthused. “Baby, are you serious? What did I ever do to deserve that?”

Emitting a patient sigh, she grins, “Hey, Mister, don't whine. If you're going to blend in with the social scene around here, you need a wardrobe that makes you look more family friendly, less hit man. Take it from the foreign spy who's managed to blend herself into Western civilization. And before we peruse and brave those crowds at the mall, we'll stop off someplace for breakfast....” she slides away, dragging the thick soft spread off him as she moves. Her eyes rake over his muscled nakedness, pausing delightedly on his burgeoning erection before her gaze meets his again. She lifts one amused brow, “... _or_ we can just make it lunch instead. I'm in no hurry to buy even more clothes to obstruct my view.”

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	20. Chapter 20

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 **Chapter Twenty**

They decide to spend the entire coming week—most likely in various states of undress and positions—fending for themselves. Which means giving the house staff some time off. 

Natasha's almost certain that Fury will be puzzled by the decision once he gets wind of it. She's also relatively sure that he won't ask her for an explanation. 

He never does unless it becomes a matter of life and death...and hopefully it won't come to _that_. 

“Well, that's it....you've got nobody but me to deal with for the next few days...” Bucky announces as he returns to their table in the mall's food court after making his call. “...so I'll be taking care of you, including cooking and everything. Don't worry though, I've been watching Inga a lot. She says I'll do just fine.”

Only Nat's not worried at all and doesn't mind it a bit. Even considers it sort of a sweet, romantic gesture on his part, agreeing to this; a nice, little honeymoon of sorts to allow them the luxury of some much needed time alone together. So she hopes they can take full advantage of occupying it like any amorous, young couple would. 

Of course, most amorous young couples probably wouldn't bother leaving the house to lunch on sandwiches and hot drinks in a crowded food court while contemplating a shopping spree, but it's also not like this is a first for them where honeymoon phases are concerned. Given their lives and the unusual nature of their adult relationship, Natalia and James have experienced many stops and starts over the past several years. The starts, because they've always somehow managed to find one another again no matter what, when or where. And the stops, of _course_...always against their will and forced upon them by others. 

Others they're determined to elude this time. 

_Yes, this time will be different, damn it_ , Nat constantly reassures herself. If only she could reassure Bucky as well, but that's going to take some work. 

And most importantly, the passing of time. 

Time is going to be his best possible reassurance. Besides, it is the ultimate healer. That's what it had taken in order for her to start feeling somewhat confident again, too. Weeks upon weeks of freedom from covert factions of the Soviet underground that had been controlling her, and then months. 

And then a year...and finally two....

And even now she looks over her shoulder sometimes. Especially in public places, like today....but particularly when she's alone, her mind not preoccupied with accomplishing a particular task or mission. _Paranoia_. It's the worst tormentor there is, along with guilt. Considering how poor James has been traumatized by literal decades of mistreatment, it's going to take much more time for him to relax outside the perimeters of a safe house. Or even completely inside one. 

Without making it obvious, she watches from her seat at the small round table opposite him as he drinks his coffee, wide blue eyes taking in their surroundings, studying the various unfamiliar faces and listening to the blend of noises; nonstop chatter as people share food and laughter. Children on their electronic gaming devices. Babies crying as parents look exasperated or tired in turn while doing whatever it takes to soothe and quiet them. 

Natasha takes note of a few attractive singles who seem to be trying to get Bucky's attention; a couple of them look to be college age girls, and another is a young man who's seated at the next table pretending to be preoccupied texting with somebody while stealing longing gazes at her lunch companion. 

It makes Natasha smile to recall how this is the norm, and how James Barnes has always attracted admirers when they've been in public together. Maybe even more so than she has herself, and she doesn't mind it at all. It doesn't bother her that people enjoy looking at him as she can relate entirely. 

Just so there's no touching. And that's mainly for the sake of the admirer. 

He doesn't look so out of place, despite how awkward he may feel. But he doesn't look nearly as 'blending' as she thinks he could either. The black baseball cap they'd picked up because he'd kept insisting how wearing it would make him feel more comfortable in the crowd, probably does help. Halfway covers that shaggy, glorious mane of his and makes him look a little less European import...more like a youthful coach-dad. So he'd been right about that. It's a nice touch. And as much as Nat might hate him having to ditch the leather, they probably need to put him in something else. Buy him a different coat...something with a warm lining that looks cozy. More approachable. It also makes sense as it's nearly November and the nights are already starting to cool by about twenty degrees over the daylight hours. 

It won't be much longer before the days are growing shorter altogether. 

_Winter is coming._

“So, you have Inga's personal number, too?” she teases, reaching across their table to pick up the cell phone he's just placed on it, pretending that she's about to snoop. “Sounds pretty serious. Maybe I should be concerned about that instead?”

Cornflower blue eyes fix themselves on her from beneath the dark bill of his cap as he shrugs, “I don't know. _Maybe?_ I mean, she _is_ a blonde bombshell who speaks fluent German and can cook like a master chef.” 

“Which is somehow preferred over a redheaded agent who speaks fluent Russian and can kill you?” she asks, batting her eyelashes for comic effect. 

“No way.” he answers as he gently removes the phone from her hand before slipping it into his jacket's hip pocket, giving her a wink. “I can cook. I don't need someone who can do that for me. But you can do a lot of other things that I _can't_ do for myself and they all take precedence over food, so yeah.....we're good.”

“Oh, but surely, you can do _some_ of those things yourself.” 

“Just doesn't have the same effect though. And the absolute best of those things, I really can't do. You're the master of those.”

The compliment brings a girlish smile to her lips. “In that case, I promise to do a few more of those things again later.” She keeps her eyes trained on him as she takes another sip from her cup. 

That brings the crooked grin to his face. “Like the ones in the shower this morning?” he asks hopefully, “....'cause those were _fantastic_.”

“You did some pretty amazing things yourself, hot shot....” she affirms, reluctantly dragging her eyes away to instinctively scan the crowd before they focus on him again. “I always have been impressed with your multitasking skills though, even under water. You'd give Jacques Cousteau a run for his money.”

Bucky's lecherous expression fades to one of complete confusion. “Who's that?”

"It's not an old boyfriend, if that's what you're thinking." She giggles into her cup of cocoa. “I also like how your reactions can go from ninety year old curmudgeon to pre-teen boy within the span of a few seconds. It's cute.”

“ _You're_ cute.” he practically purrs, gaze locked on Natasha's as he draws in a deep breath and releases a slow sigh, allowing his heart some time to do that funny, fluttery thing it's been doing a lot lately. 

“Mister Barnes, you're making me blush.” Reading the sudden shift in his mood, she adds, “Are we going to have to cut this shopping trip short and slip back into the obscurity of our hideaway? Further explore some of those very pleasant things we did before we left there?”

“Hm...either that or find a nice little semi-obscure place that's a whole lot closer....” he looks around, spotting a darkened corridor off the mall's main drag that he nods his head toward “....I'm sure there's one _somewhere_.”

“Seriously?” It's a side of him that Natasha hasn't experienced in a really long time. Too damn long. And seeing it again instantly sparks a primal urge in her that she'd missed so much. “Back there? In the fire exit?

Lowering his cup to the table after the final swallow of coffee, he nods, “Sure, why not? Unless there's a fire here in the next fifteen minutes or so, we shouldn't have any problem.” 

“Are you sure you can limit yourself to _just_ fifteen minutes, Barnes?” Her sensual full lips quirk into a slightly crooked smile of her own. 

It makes Bucky's heartbeat quicken...and he can actually feel his blood circulating to places south of his belt line. “Is that a challenge, Romanoff?”

“Damn right.”

He stands up. “Then why not find out for yourself? That is, if you're up for it.”

And that's all it takes. 

Natasha stands, too, eyes burning directly into his. “Oh, sweetie, you're the one who needs to be _up_ for it....because I'm always ready.” Taking his un-gloved hand to give him a tug, she simultaneously snatches the handbag she's brought along from the chair next to hers, as that single item is her subtle attempt to look like any other regular holiday shopper in the mall rather than a spy on a buying mission for her fugitive boyfriend. 

Bucky moves along with her more than willingly, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I'm startin' to remember that about you....and I like it. _Again_.”

Holding hands, the two weave their way through the rush of people, minds mutually focused on that singular, narrow, darkened destination of bliss when suddenly a hand emerges from the crowd swirling around them to catch Bucky roughly by his metal arm. 

“Hey, _Bu...._ ”

But before the grabber can get two full words out, Bucky whirls on him and has him clasped in a choke-hold tight enough to snap a vertebrae, only to quickly release it when he realizes who the person is. 

“Holy shit, _Seth?_ Oh, man...I'm so....” he starts rubbing the smaller man's shoulders and back of his neck, his own heart pounding rapidly at the realization of what he'd nearly done. “What the _hell_ , dude? Goddamn it....”

The diminutive blond waves Bucky off as he stands bent slightly over, struggling to catch his breath. “No... _no_ , man....it's alright. That was...that was stupid of me, I...should've known better.” He looks up at the dark haired man, finally able to smile. “I'm okay. Honestly.” His eyes shift to Natasha. “Hey, Natalie. Nice seein' you again.”

But Natasha isn't really happy to see Seth, and her face shows it. Not only has their potential for a hot quickie in a daring place been ruined, but that look of fear and remorse on Bucky's face is the last thing she'd ever wanted to see again. 

“Hey, Lucky.” she replies to Seth dryly, unsmiling, “Which is what I'm gonna call you from now on, because I've seen that same move send other guys to the hospital....” _not to mention the morgue_ “....but you seem to be okay. Apparently you're tougher than you look.”

Bucky eyes display sad uncertainty when they dart frantically to Nat. She reassures him with a subtle twitch of a smile and then grabs onto his right arm. Gives it a soothing rub. 

“Y...yeah...” he sputters, finally managing a weak nod at Seth “....apparently so, kid. You _sure_ you're alright?”

Seth straightens up and shrugs a few more kinks out of his narrow neck and shoulders, “Oh, heck yeah....don't worry about me, dude. I'm fine. Seriously. Just remind me to never piss _you_ off.”

Releasing a sigh of relief that only Natasha notices because she's standing so close to him, Bucky asks, “So, um....what's up, man? How've you been? How's your wife? Name's Emmy, right?”

“Yep, it's Emily really, but I've always called her Emmy...and sometimes just Em. She's actually here with me! Just had to make a stop in the ladies' room, because well....you know, pregnant women and some of their issues....”

“Which make them _your_ issues, too...being the happy father and all. Am I right?” Natasha cocks a scrutinizing brow at him. 

“Oh, absolutely!” Seth chuckles, “Believe me, Natalie, your husband already schooled me on that.”

The agent flashes a proud grin at her baseball cap wearing partner. “He _did_ , did he?” 

Bucky blushes. 

“Yeah, sure did. Valuable info that I'll never forget.” Seth chirps excitedly, reaching out to lightly nudge Bucky's free arm, “Thanks for that again, by the way, Buddy.” His bluish-green eyes flash toward the alcove where the door to the women's restrooms is concealed. “Oh, here comes Em now! I want you guys to meet her.”

Natasha and Bucky exchange a look of surrender. And Nat feels irked by the fact that they're stuck in the middle of the mall with Seth, until she catches sight of the sweet-faced young woman with her long auburn hair pulled into a high ponytail, wearing a faux fur jacket over clothes that look like they're barely able to contain the huge, rounded protrusion of her mid-section. 

She's got wide gray eyes, and she's wearing the cutest dimpled smile Natasha's ever seen on a grown person as she approaches them. 

“Hi there!” she instantly spouts a sincerely friendly greeting to both Bucky and Nat. 

Seth instantly jumps in, “Hey, Em, sweetie...these are the nice folks I was telling you about. Remember that night I got a ride home from _Conroy's_? This is the couple I met there...Bucky and Natalie....”

“Barnes.” Natasha concludes for Seth, reaching out to accept his wife's handshake, “Bucky and Natalie Barnes. You can just call me Nat though.” 

“Well, it's so great to meet you, Nat. Wow, you're really pretty....and I just love your hair! I've always wanted that color myself, but I don't think I have the right skin tone to pull it off.” Emily grins at her. She then looks up at dark-haired man standing to Nat's left. “And nice to finally meet you, too, Bucky. Seth hasn't shut up about you since you brought him home that night. That was very kind of you, too, so thanks.”

“Nice meeting you, Emily.” Bucky responds a little self-consciously, then tosses a glance at Natasha, “And it's just lucky that my wife had the foresight to bring the car that night, or Seth might've had a very uncomfortable ride home on the back of a Harley instead...especially given the kind of shape he was in.”

Emily smiles at her husband affectionately and takes him by the hand, “Yeah, he's a lightweight alright, my hubby. But I guess I'll keep him anyway.” 

“So, are you two Christmas shopping or somethin'?” Seth asks, his light eyes traveling between Bucky and Natasha. “Have you eaten anything yet? If not, maybe we could grab a bite together....”

Bucky looks like a deer in headlights. “Well....”

“Oh, wow....that would really be great, but we just got finished eating,” Natasha chimes in, taking the burden of breaking the news away from Bucky. “We're just going to finish up our shopping and then go home. Crowds like this always give my sweetie a headache.”

“That's alright....totally understandable. But maybe we can do dinner sometime instead then?” Emily speaks up, “I mean, Seth was _so_ impressed with Bucky....but he didn't have any contact info, and I'd just love a chance to get to know the two of you. I really like cooking, so how about giving me the incentive to make a nice four-course meal again? Like, how's this coming Wednesday night sound? Do you two have other plans?” 

Natasha, who is usually razor sharp and excels at making up things on the spur—given her years of training and experience—for once, can't think of one goddamn excuse to not have dinner with the nice young couple. 

On the other hand, she also thinks it might be a good idea to start mingling a bit. On a small scale. Might be good for Bucky to learn how to blend in socially. So she gives a solid nod. “Sounds like a wonderful idea to me.” She turns to James, who's looking at her as though she's finally lost the last bit of her mind. “How about you, honey? We don't have any other plans on Wednesday night, do we?”

Still staring at her incredulously, Bucky grits out through slightly clenched teeth. “No.”

As she feels the muscles in his arm tighten, she grasps it even tighter. “Well, that settles it then.” Giving the brightest smile she can muster to Seth and Emily, she asks, “What time do you want us there?” 

**************************************************


	21. Chapter 21

****************************************

 

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 

It's only Sunday evening but Natasha is already searching the closet in her bedroom for something suitable to wear on Wednesday for their dinner with the Finnegans.

Emphasis on _her_ bedroom. 

To be honest, the whole bedroom situation is still a little sketchy. Yes, she and James have been sort of sharing the atmospheric and gorgeous, ground floor guest room with the perfect ocean view ever since they'd wound up there after their “date night” Thursday. But, no, they've not moved any his and hers items of clothing into that room's closet yet, because even though it's been three nights of pure bliss and sharing a bed with the sergeant again feels like the most natural state of being in the world to Nat, she's still unsure how official to make this “thing” between them. 

Or maybe it isn't even really a _thing_ at all. Besides, Bucky has barely strung a complete sentence together for her since their mall outing on Friday when she'd accepted Emily Finnegan's dinner invitation without consulting with him first. Natasha hates that he's so hard to read sometimes, because if he is pissed, then it certainly hasn't kept him from wanting or initiating sex. 

No, that hasn't slowed one bit. 

But unless mutters, growls, soft curses and moans qualify as conversation, it's pretty much remained quiet on his end. Oh, sure, he acknowledges her presence even when he's not inside her, too, because true to his promise, he's been whipping up some real culinary masterpieces that she's allowed to partake in. And then while they're eating, she chatters on endlessly about one thing or the other while he simply turns his eyes her way...casting these scathing, accusatory glares that she can almost feel searing physical wounds straight through her flesh. 

She doesn't even know what part of the goddamn safe house he's hiding out in at the moment, but she has a few good guesses. She is still a spy with great instincts, after all. 

_Ah, fuck it_ , she thinks, why even bother anymore? Just let him stew wherever he's at and maybe she'll sleep in her own room tonight. In her own peaceful, recently abandoned bed, tossing and turning while she tries like hell to not miss his presence, the smell of his hair and skin, and the sound of his breathing and his warmth wrapped all around her. 

It's one reason Natasha feels like she's never been all that great at this relationship crap. She doesn't like drama, and she also doesn't appreciate the way this sense of attachment takes over to put her self reliance to the test. 

Whatever though. She supposes she might get around to finding the big brooding man who shares her living space at some point soon if only to apologize for still being as bossy and overbearing as he'd probably forgotten she's always been. 

After examining a few more outfits, in a vain attempt to find something more festive than dark earth tones and black, she hears the instant message notifications go off on her laptop that's sitting open on top of the vanity. 

_Could it be that James is getting lonely and ready to forgive, but too embarrassed to say so face to face?,_ she ponders. And then, her curiosity finally winning out, she stops perusing her wardrobe long enough to turn around and take a peek at the screen. 

_Ladyhawk79:_ So, where the hell are you?

A sideways grins slants across her face as she recognizes the tone of the message right away. Definitely not Laura Barton. But much more like the sometimes surly but well-meaning husband of said friend. 

After typing a quick response, she hits 'return'....

 _Ginger Snapped:_ Avoiding you. Wasn't it obvious? 

….and waits for Clint's response, which doesn't take very long. 

_Ladyhawk79:_ Well, you should probably check in and let certain folks know you're still alive. Not that I'm worried at all myself, as I have the good sense to touch base here. But despite supposedly being a genius, Stark seems totally incapable and keeps dropping your name into conversations where it's obviously out of place in hopes that someone else will do the legwork of locating you and then report back. 

Nat frowns at the words on the screen. What the hell? Nick had promised that he'd let the others know she's been away on a special secret mission in order to keep their minds at ease. 

_Ginger Snapped:_ Sorry. Fury was supposed to fill you all in. 

_Ladyhawk79:_ Oh, he did. But we also know how Fury lies sometimes, especially for you. So are you really okay? Decompressing maybe? Laura mentioned you might have some “interests” that are a bit more....personal going on. What's his name? :) 

_Holy shit_. Even though Nat realizes that she'll probably have to discuss Bucky with somebody on the team someday, and Clint is as likely a suspect as any....today is definitely _not_ that day. 

_Ginger Snapped:_ That's girl talk and something I'd rather save for your better half, unless your anatomy has undergone some significant changes lately that you want to share. So if I were to call you right now, would you answer your phone in baritone or soprano?

 _Ladyhawk79:_ Damn it, I knew I should've just pretended to be the wifey. Has that window of opportunity closed?

 _Ginger Snapped:_ You bet. You'd have never pulled it off anyway. You're not that great of a spy. :P And tell Stark I said to stop name dropping. I'm fine and I'll be seeing you guys in a few weeks. 

_Ladyhawk79:_ Great, I'll let everybody know...except for the Capsicle. Haven't seen him lately because he's just as elusive as you are. So you might wanna get word to him yourself if possible. 

_Ginger Snapped:_ I answered a text of his a few weeks back, but he might be due for another. I'll take care of it. Scream at you later, Bub. 

_Ladyhawk79:_ Get your ass back to the Tower so you can do it in person. I hate typing. See ya. 

_(Ladyhawk79 has signed off)_

She stares at the message window for a few minutes more, mind going into overdrive. 

It's true. She'll have to report in soon, rejoin the world and get back to work...meaning going on assignments with the rest of the crew again. How Bucky will fit into that, she hasn't the foggiest. Also has no idea if he'll even want to fit into that other life of hers. 

But maybe that's the whole problem; it's all about her life. What about his? How do they handle that? What happens to him?

Sure, Fury could and probably would be willing to help Bucky the same way he'd done for her; set him up in a secured location with a legal change of identity or maybe even assist his reemergence into the modern world in a manner similar to what they'd been able to do for Steve. 

Natasha even dares to dream that maybe he can someday become an Avenger, too. Someone with the Winter Soldier's skill set would be an immeasurable asset to the team. 

Major difference there, however, is that Bucky's not Steve Rogers. Yes, he grew up in the same neighborhood, survived the same Brooklyn streets, fought in the same war and was also one of The Howling Commandos....but unlike Rogers, he hasn't merely been dormant for the past several decades. 

He's carried out quite a few missions since. More than Natasha probably even knows the full magnitude of and there's no telling how many of those had involved acts of treason that the United States government will definitely demand some sort of serious atonement for. More than likely the lethal kind.

Because Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes had killed for the enemy. 

But no, not really. He'd been _used_ by the enemy, just like Nat had. Big contrast there. He's no less a victim than she'd ever been; trained in the art of murder and making clean escapes, and then forced to use that art to paint HYDRA's vast canvas of corruption, mayhem and destruction. Conditioned to be a traitor. Public enemy. And even though he really isn't any of those horrible things at the very core of him and who he's always has been as a person, his own government is no doubt going to consider him such. 

Not everyone believes in total mind control and the loss of one's free will. It'd just been lucky for her that Clint Barton and Nick Fury had felt differently. 

Giving up on an outfit hunt as she's no longer in the mood for it, Natasha suddenly feels the urge to find Bucky and check on him. See if he's feeling the least bit talkative yet. 

After searching the few places in the safe house that are some of his regulars—the workout room, the indoor swimming pool, the recreation room and the bedroom they've been sharing—she finally finds him one of his very favorites; a cozy, warm reading lounge complete with a state-of-the-art electric fireplace, yet another vast view of the moonlit ocean and beautiful large framed photographs adoring all the walls. 

Most of the photos depict epic, panoramic snow scenes. _The perfect place for her Winter Soldier_. 

Should've been the first place she checked for him. 

She sits down on the small overstuffed sofa a couple of feet from him and reclines against its back, quietly studying his serious profile and angular features as he continues staring at the flickering golden flames encased in a stone pillar that's suspended from the ceiling. 

“Figured I might find you here. You like this room so much, I sorta consider it yours.” she tells him softly, “...like it oughta be named after you the way some rooms in the White House are named for certain presidents.”

Slowly, he blinks and then turns his head to return her gaze. Still doesn't speak though. 

The sharp scrutiny of his expression irritates Natasha and she sighs, “Just stop glaring at me, alright? I'm sorry.”

The stare persists. “For?”

“For being pushy and doing things without discussing them with you first.” she pouts not unlike an insolent child would. 

“Oh. That.”

“Yes, _that._ ”

“You're apologizing for it like it's a brand new facet of your personality that I wasn't aware of.”

 _Smartass_. “Just in case you'd forgotten.”

“Even if I had, dollface, it would've come back to me lickety-split when you held a gun on me and _told_ me I was leaving town with you whether I wanted to or not.”

Natasha purses her lips. “How many goddamn times do I have to beg your forgiveness for forcibly saving your life? What's the issue? Are you regretting it now?”

“Why don't you tell me, seeing as you're already in the habit of making up my mind for me?”

“Touche.” she hikes a brow at him. “Sometimes you're an ass, you know that?”

“Ditto. And I like how you're never afraid to point that out to me.”

“Same.”

They sit comfortably silent for a minute or two before Bucky edges close to Nat, reclines against the cushions beside her and reaches over to take her hand gently into his metal one, fingers making soft mechanical sounds as they stroke hers carefully. “Look, Kitten, I'm sorry that I've been so trapped inside my own head for the past couple of days. I didn't mean to shut you out....but at the same time, it couldn't really be helped either. Guess I just needed to wrangle with all this shit on my own for a while first.”

Feeling sudden dread in the form of a weird sensation inside her chest as though her heart is being weighted down by an anchor and sinking to the pit of her stomach, she asks, “ _What_ shit?” even though she's kind of afraid to know. Nevertheless, her gaze remains trained on him, unchanged...vigilant. _Strong_. 

Bucky shakes his head. “There's a whole fuck-ton of it....way too goddamn much to sum up in one conversation.” He draws a breath and then releases a long, deep sigh as he looks around the room for a second. “Y'know....a lot of the photos in here remind me of where I died....” he stops suddenly, feeling like the shift in subject is somehow wrong. But with so many thoughts swirling through his head at once, it's overwhelming to him and he doesn't know exactly where to begin. Or how. 

“But you didn't.. _die_...” Natasha affirms hesitantly. It's painful to hear him talk about it...about how he lost the man he used to be. But she also knows that he needs to. That it's a necessary demon to wrestle as it still threaten his life and his sanity. A demon that she wants to give him every chance to exorcise. So she gently urges him onward, “Can you remember how long you were out there? After the fall?”

He rights his posture again, but still looks dazed as he answers, and Natasha can almost see the whole horrible scene replaying in his mind. 

“I dunno. Right now it seems like a lot of time must've passed. Could've been weeks...then maybe it was only days. It's hard to discern what was real and what parts were just hallucinations or dreams. I remember that I kept seeing Steve there...that shield of his shining like a beacon in all that snow. And I'd always feel this huge wave of relief, like, _“Thank God, my buddy's here to take me home”_....but then he'd just fade away again and there was nothing left in his place but the sounds of nature...the howl of the wind...the cold. The way the sky kept changing is another thing that stands out. Like, sometimes it was bleak and gray....just endless fog and gloom. And others, it would look so clear and beautiful...like a rainbow of colors were swirling through it, and when I'd see that amazing light show, I would think that maybe I'd finally died....” his words drift off, big blue eyes blinking lazily, the room's warm glow showing through his feathery lashes as he stares at the dancing flames in front of them. “Then I'd realize that I was still breathing, because every breath hurt so goddamn much...I was still lying there broken....so I'd close my eyes and pray for death. But the prayers went unanswered, and I thought maybe it was because God had abandoned me just for being who I was...a blood-thirsty soldier. A killer...taker of lives. Some of them innocent ones.”

“War's never that clear, James...there are _always_ casualties. You were fighting to defend your country and save the lives of a lot of those innocent people, too.” Nat reminds him through the tears welling in her eyes. “You were being a good, honorable man....”

The smile he displays is a sad one, and he lifts her hand to his lips to plant a tender kiss against the back of it. “For somebody who wasn't even born at the time, doll, you sure assume an awful lot about the kind of guy I was back then.” 

“I'm an excellent judge of character.” she insists softly, “ I also know who you are _now_ , not to mention having dealt with enough truly evil messed up people in my life to know the difference.”

“I know you have.” Bucky says, unblinking...directly his gaze forward again. “But I must've told you all this stuff, Nat...like when we were together before?”

She shakes her head. “No, not really. You told me that your arm was shattered during a mission after you fell from a bridge in The Alps. I never knew why. Never really knew how deep your connection with Steve Rogers was until I saw a display at the Smithsonian in DC that's dedicated to Captain America and the Howling Commandos.”

“A display in DC, huh?” His brows pitch and he looks mildly amused. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I just thought maybe....you might've even heard about some of this from Rogers himself.”

“No. Like I've said before, he's really guarded most of he time. Closed off. He's got a wicked, dry sense of humor though if you catch him on a good day.”

Hearing her say that brings a faint grin to his lips. “Yeah. Bet you two hit if off right away.”

“Cap's alright. But there's this strange old friend of his who's really a lot more _my_ type of guy.” Nat's expression grows serious, haunted again as she rests her head on the sofa cushion behind it. “Tell me something?”

“Hm?”

“What did your handlers say to you after you were captured?”

“The first time I was captured was by Nazis during the war...second time by HYDRA operatives who'd infiltrated the KGB. Which time?”

“The Russian time.”

He swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing harshly. “They kept reminding me how nobody cared that I was gone or they would've sent somebody out to find me. At least to recover a body because the US Army had the resources and could've gotten to me just as easily as they had.” His gaze drops then, settling on their joined hands...the tangle of skin and metal...soft and hard. Human and... _machine_. “They said I was valuable only to them...not to the Americans or to the other Commandos. Not to my own country. Kept telling me how I'd been abandoned and left for dead so I owed them my life....my loyalty.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she responds, her voice soft but tired and ragged around the edges. “It's all a part of the brainwashing. The manipulation...it's what they do.” 

“I know. I keep reminding myself of that. I'm sure they were implanting some memories, too...of a different family...different childhood and past. Scrambles up everything inside my brain. That's why it's sometimes so hard to remember what Bucky Barnes' real life had been like.”

“That's also why you struggle to grasp onto every detail that comes back to you.” Nat concludes, thinking of the countless notebooks and doodles crammed in the duffel bag he'd brought with him from Canada. “You always need some validation and to constantly have the things that you _think_ you remember confirmed.”

“Right....” he nods, his eyes shifting to lock on hers again, “...'cause I get so confused sometimes. When I was in Quebec City, I even visited the library a few times, looked up some of the stuff that would come back to me online.”

That brings a slight smirk to her lips. “You mean, _you_ actually used a computer?” 

He nods, seemingly not getting the joke that Nat had tried to insert there. She doesn't mind though, thinking it was a stupid, ill-timed wisecrack anyway. She'd just hoped that she could make him smile, even just slightly. She's missed that gorgeous smile of his so much the past couple of days. 

But at this point, she's more relieved that he's talking again. Unloading some of what's obviously been weighing heavily on him. 

“What were you able to find out?” she asks. 

“That James Barnes was born to and raised by immigrant parents, just like most of the other kids in the neighborhood where he grew up.” he says, his lips finally curving into a small grin, though more a bittersweet one. “It was a melting pot of cultures...we were all poor immigrant families. I had little sisters. Two of 'em, I think. One was sick all the time as a baby. That's how we got to know Steve's mom. She was a nurse...her name was Sarah.”

Hearing him speak of the things he remembers about his childhood brings tears to Natasha's eyes. It's a struggle for her to speak through the emotion when she says, “I'll help you find out more, James. Whatever it takes. Maybe I can even talk to Steve sometime myself...”

“No.”

“Why not? He's the one person who's bound to know almost as much about your past as you would've known yourself....”

“You can't do that, Natalia. He'll wonder why you're asking.”

“It's not like I'll bombard him with questions. As a professional, I know how to conduct myself. I can do it in a way that won't even make him curious....”

“If I remember correctly, he's suspicious by nature.”

“Then I'll make sure that he isn't.”

“I said, _no_.” He cuts a sharp glare at her. 

“Alright, fine then....but at some point we may have to go to Fury and the rest of the Avengers for help, so if that happens, you can talk to Rogers yourself.”

Another head shake, with closed eyes. “That's crazy, Nat.”

“Why's it so crazy?”

“Because I don't know if I can ever face Steve again.”

“And why is _that?_ Is it because you blame him for what happened?”

“Of course I don't. It's just...if he finds out that I've been alive this whole time and what I've done, even if it wasn't anything I wanted to do on my own...he's gonna blame himself for it. He doesn't need that burden, Nat. I just feel like he's better off believing that all the good he's done since he came back, that maybe, even _partly_ at least, he's doing in the memory of somebody he looked up to once. Somebody he loved and lost. _That's_ the guy I'd rather let Steve remember.” 

“Well, I think you're wrong. I think he'd be glad to have you back, no matter what the circumstances.” 

“And even if he was, Natalia....what would having me included in _your_ everyday life do to you?”

“I don't know what you're getting at.”

“You work for SHIELD. You're an Avenger. I'm a fugitive, not only from HYDRA and the KGB underground, but from the same government you're working under the jurisdiction of. Do the math.”

She looks hurt. “What the hell, Bucky? You don't honestly believe that I would ever turn you in!”

“No, _no_ , Angel...I'm not even implying that. I'm saying just the opposite...that I know that you _wouldn't_ , which would be the whole goddamn problem, because harboring me puts you, your job and your allegiances at risk.”

“Look, there are a lot of things that Fury and SHIELD still don't know about me. And they don't necessarily have to know those things, because none of them change who I am or my dedication to righting what's wrong....to _fighting_ what's wrong. And in this case, _you_ were wronged, Bucky....by a lot of people. I just want to do my part in helping to make that right again. I mean, I really love what I do and the people I'm lucky enough to do it with, but I would _never_ put that before my loyalty to a true friend....somebody I owe a debt to.”

Releasing her hand, Bucky wraps his arms around Nat instead. He pulls her down on top of him as he stretches out on the plush sofa, and her petite, lithe body fluidly nestles against his, fitting as snug as one piece of a puzzle does into its mate. 

“You don't owe me any debt, Angel.” he breathes out softly, easily settling into the comfort and warmth of having her close to him again. He holds her and practically buries his face in her silky, copper waves, inhaling the lavender and vanilla scent mixed with the faintest hint of her regular, expensive French fragrance. It's apparently like aroma therapy to his mind because he's been sleeping more soundly than he can recall having been able to do before they started sharing a bed again. 

“Bullshit.” she mutters, cheek resting against the soft fleece shirt he has on with his sweatpants. “I owe you so much more than that. That's one of the reasons you're here, James. I always repay my debts. So I guess you'll just have to shut up and deal with it.”

“You know what?” he mumbles before pressing a kiss to her hairline, “I secretly like it when you're bossy.”

“Does that mean I'm forgiven for accepting Emily's dinner invitation?”

“Depends on whether I can make it through that evening without falling to pieces or not.”

“You'll do great, Sweetie. Besides, it's not like it'll be our first time going undercover together.” Natasha says softly against his chest as her breathing falls into a calm, steady rhythm which indicates that sleep is descending. “We'll just come up with some cutesy tale about how we met and fell in love, and the rest of the story will write itself.”

Bucky doesn't dare say it aloud, but even that sounds ominous to him. Prophetic. 

_The rest of the story will write itself._

Because in his mind, it implies that the story will inevitably have to end. And the prospect of that is frightening to him, as none of the endings he can remember between him and Natalia have ever been happy ones...if only for the fact that they even exist at all. 

 

****************************************************


	22. Chapter 22

***************************************

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

 

Natasha could really get used to this, and maybe that's a problem within itself, as she'd never been allowed to be with him long enough to get used to it before...

The luxury of early morning sex.

Of course, making love with James is incredible at any time, but in the early hours just shy of dawn when everything is still warm and dark and shrouded in the drifty haze of slumber, and the coming strains of a new day struggle to remain buried and oblivious to even the gentlest intrusion of itself, it feels exceptionally good. 

This morning, in particular, it had all started with a dream. And oddly enough not a good dream, but one that was more an extremely sad memory for her. The lingering, painful recalling of a time long past...their mission to assassinate the dictator of Baltavia...a failed attempt that had left her wounded and desperate while he remained the dutiful sergeant instead of running for his life the way he should have. 

She relived the scene in a restless sleep while tossing and turning; could see the gray morning mist again, real enough to reach out and touch it...feel the cold sting of the air and the burning pain in her leg as it bled profusely from a gunshot wound that she should've been smart enough to avoid. And the sergeant, kneeling over her....loyal as ever, shrugging off his black wool jacket and then shredding away one sleeve of his shirt to make a tourniquet because he felt responsible for not having seen the second shooter in time to prevent him landing the shot....no matter that her would-be assassin was now lying dead in the dirt only yards from where they remained hidden in the brush, a gaping hole from Barnes' Tokarev pistol in the center of his forehead. 

The heavy rotary blades of choppers and military vehicles could be heard in the distance, rapidly closing in on their location. 

Natalia Romanova was only nineteen and a few months before had finally managed to successfully seduce James Barnes after over a year of consistent flirting and trying her damnedest to interest him while he resisted. Somehow she'd known even then that he was much older although his body was still that of a man in his mid to late twenties and unchanged from the first time she'd seen him when she was a child. At the time she hadn't known precisely what they'd been doing to preserve him for all those years, only that it couldn't have been anything good. It was clear that James was a virtual prisoner to the people who'd been sending him to train her for assignments, and after she was wounded, she desperately wanted him to think of himself for once and simply run away from it all. 

_Just go._

But no matter how much she'd begged and pleaded and cursed at him, James, his blue eyes both brave and fearful, stubborn yet also relenting and sad, would barely meet her gaze as he continued wrapping up her leg, silently taking all the verbal abuse she hurled at him with his hands remaining steady at their task, his resolve unmovable. 

_“Why don't you run? You know what they'll do to you again when they get here.”_ she'd told him in her native Russian, wind and tears burning her eyes, obstructing her sight of his handsome face. _“James, please....just go, you idiot! Leave me and get the hell out of here. They won't hurt me...but you know damn well what will happen to you, so what the hell are you staying for, like some imbecile who welcomes the punishment and pain? I don't even want you near me anymore! Just go away....”_

 _“I'm sorry....but I can't do that,”_ he'd spoken to her in her own language, the way he'd usually done then, _“I won't, even if I love you enough to do most anything you ask of me. I won't leave you to face them alone. This mission is mine now. All mine, and I'll accept the consequences for its failure.”_

_“But I'm the one who jeopardized the damn mission, Barnes! I'll tell them that...and I'll make them believe me, you'll see. I know they will! All I have to do is....”_

He'd roughly grabbed her face with his gloved, human hand...half fury and half grief as his eyes riveted onto hers and he ground out through clenched teeth, _“My mission...my responsibility, goddamn you! You'll tell them nothing else. I missed the first shot and you were hit as a result of my carelessness! Do you hear me? That's exactly what happened! And that's what you'll fucking tell them, too, because if you tell them anything different, then we're both dead. Do you understand that, Natalia? You fucking hear me?”_

 _“Yes!”_ she'd shrieked angrily, tears staining her cold-blushed cheeks as he'd released them...knowing better than to try to further defy the sergeant. Even if she'd only wanted to save him, to spare him from what would surely happen to him next. 

Because it had been her fault. The king's snipers could've killed James, and if she'd been watching like she should've instead of being distracted by thoughts of how much she loved him and hoping that they could escape together once the mission was completed, she could've saved them both all this trouble. 

_Love is for children._ Not for adults who are deployed to carry out kill missions for the Soviets. 

As punishment, with her leg all cleaned and bandaged but still throbbing and aching from the bullet they'd just removed, they'd forced Natalia to watch from a soundproof cubicle as they strapped her brave and noble mentor turned lover to a chair...his muscled limbs bound, head encased in a crown of iron and wires, and then tortured him with bolts of electricity that coursed through his skull and brain to erase every single memory of her and the love they shared as he screamed out in agony. 

And after they'd shipped his unconscious body off to be imprisoned in a cryostasis chamber somewhere far away from her again, it was her turn....

The young spy was frightened and shivering uncontrollably as they'd forced her down onto the gurney to be dosed with an anesthetic. When Natalia had come to later, her senior handler Katya had coldly informed her that they'd removed her womb and any traces that _he_ had ever been present inside her along with it. 

_“You were foolish to become involved with The Asset and the sooner you forget about him, the better, my dear....for the both of you.”_ she'd been warned. 

Although he knows the basics again of what had been done to her, she still hasn't told Bucky that entire story yet and doesn't know if she'll ever really be able to. But she'd woken from the dream close to tears over the painful memory of it and he'd stirred immediately upon sensing her sadness, had held and kissed her in the darkness to offer comfort in the best way he knew how. 

The kisses had soon deepened and grown almost desperate. Hungry. And Natasha had found herself craving him. Wanting, needing to feel as much of him as possible. Perhaps less from love and more from the desire to reclaim what her tortured dreams had taken from her. Again. To regain an important part of herself that the past had stolen. 

So this morning their lovemaking isn't soft or loving or gentle, but urgent. Even forceful and demanding. It's Natasha who instigates it even though Bucky is more than willing to comply. He moans deep from his throat and coaxes her along...encourages her, speaking only Russian to her in a voice that's still ragged from sleep as though he knows precisely what she needs to hear. 

She rewards his body with licks and soft bites, sucking his warm flesh between her kiss swollen lips, leaving bruised, rippened trails that heal and vanish quickly thanks to the serum. But at least she's able to put the hickeys there in the first place. To mark him in some small way that satisfies her for the time being. 

_Mine, mine...he belongs with me and you'll never take him from me again. Take nothing else away from me as I've already lost more than I can bear._

She climbs on top of Bucky to straddle his hips, gasping as she lowers herself around him....his thick hot cock spreading her open...its slick, blunt solidness filling her inch by beautiful inch. She begins riding him...slowly at first and then her moves intensifying, her thrusts hard yet fluid and meeting each of his...forcing him in so deep that it's almost painful for her. She just has such an overwhelming need to feel him, and it doesn't even matter to her if it hurts. At least she has the luxury of experiencing it...of feeling him, pain and all. Alive and moving and hot inside her, just knowing that he's present again. Safe again, and protected. With her. In her.

_Oh, please, dear God...let him stay._

The tenderness doesn't come until later....after all the sex, which had started in their bed and then continued in the shower with her cheek pressed against the wall tiles as he'd held her up in his strong arms and taken her from behind. 

And now she's standing in front of the full-length bedroom mirror wrapped in a soft white towel, deep red strands of wet hair falling to her pale shoulders. A sweet smile slants across her full lips when Bucky's nude reflection appears behind hers and he slips his arms around her waist...damp dark head dipping low as he plants a kiss against the side of her neck and then peers at her through the image of them together, his blue gaze dewy and gentle and filled with love. 

“You know what you're wearing tonight yet, Cutie?” Natasha asks, fighting to speak around the grin that's making her look nearly as young and juvenile as she feels. 

But it's okay. Love isn't just for children, after all. _They'd told her wrong._

“What do _you_ think I should wear?” Bucky responds with another question, a little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I wonder how long it's been since I've dressed myself to go out someplace anyway? Any idea?”

“Well, we didn't go out anyplace, but you looked like you stepped right off the cover of _GQ_ in that tux you wore for our special dinner last week.” she confesses. 

_The date that had restarted it all again. Their seemingly eternal dance with this singular destiny._

He gives her a sly half grin. “I was just hoping you'd want to get me out of it if I looked good enough in it.”

“Funny how that works, isn't it?” Natasha giggles as he presses another kiss into the crook of her neck. “I dunno, it's a little bit chilly out today,” she shrugs, “Maybe you should wear a sweater of some kind. You always look good in cool colors. So maybe dark gray or blue? Or even earth tones...and red really brings out your eyes. So does purple, for that matter.... _and_ plum.”

“How about that burgundy Henley we bought with a pair of slightly worn jeans....and the brown bomber....” he suggests. 

“Good choice.” Nat praises him. “Keep it up, fella. This domestic business just might rub off on you, after all.”

Her compliment makes him blush despite the fact that he's trying to cover it. 

“Sure. Whatever.” he answers with mild embarrassment, and then gives her ass a little love tap underneath the towel. 

They wind up not getting dressed for another three hours, after a second shower. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“It's so fuckin' crazy....'cause if it's really her, then that makes this the third body to turn up of a tenant from that same damn apartment building within the month.” Sergeant Jake Melnick of The QCPD tells his partner as they stand among a group consisting of two more plain clothes detectives and about a dozen uniformed officers all gathering evidence from the crime scene.....

A rusted-out van parked beside an old Saint-Hubert warehouse that's been completely abandoned for about thirty years. 

“Really only the second though. The Nordstrom kid wasn't a tenant...” Inspector Lacey Jordan frowns over the electronic tablet she's swiping her finger across as her sharp dark eyes flick around again to review all the activity in the general area. 

“Technicalities, Jordy....everybody we asked said the boy practically lived with his mother, barely ever missed a day there reason she even called to report him missing in the first goddamn place. Close relationship like that, then outta the blue he starts blowing away people wantin' t'get a jump start on their Christmas bargain-shopping and even saves a couple bullets for dear old mom and himself. It just doesn't make any sense. Kid was a good student in college....no criminal history....no history of mental illness. Then this young lady is questioned about the murder along with several other people living there, and a week later goes missing herself...just like Nordstrom had. Her ex doesn't know where the hell she could've vanished to. No one has a fucking clue. Then what'da'ya know? Like magic, five days later, body wearing the last clothes she was seen in turns up here with the face all fucked to hell....and we probably can't even use dental records for a positive, 'cause whoever it is really did a number on the poor thing. Healey says the main murder weapon was probably a baseball bat or something...sick bastard did this shit. What kind of sadistic fuck would want to beat somebody to death like that?”

“Take it you've never read _The Walking Dead_ comics?”

The older detective looks instantly irritated. “What the hell's _that_ got to do with anything?”

“Well, there's this character named Negan...his preferred weapon is this ball bat wrapped in...” Jordan's words trail as she reads the clear disgust on his face “....never mind.”

“Sometimes I really worry about you, Jord....swear t'God.” Melnick whirls around to see the medical examiner walking toward them, “So, is there enough of her mouth for dental ID?”

The medical examiner shakes his head, “Gonna have to rely strictly on DNA for this one. The ex-boyfriend is coming to my office to identify the rest of her belongings in the meantime though.”

“Holy shit. Totally crushed then?”

“Sure thing." Healey confirms, "Head's obliterated to the point that we can't even positively identify the color of her hair, although the missing girl was a brunette. It's a real mess.” 

“Damn it.” the older cop curses, “I just don't know what the world's comin' to.”

“An end, to hear my mother tell it.” Sgt Lacy quips to her partner as M.E. Healey walks away to return to the scene. “Did anyone you questioned mention her having enemies?”

Melnick shakes his head. “No one said a word about it to me. Seems like everyone thought she was a good person, nice neighbor....had a few issues with the ex boyfriend. But when I talked to him right after she vanished, he said they parted on good enough terms. He even sounded slightly jealous when he mentioned this admirer she supposedly had lately....says the guy acted a little too protective of her, too, apparently.”

“Right, right.” the female officer agrees, “Same guy that according to the complex manager vacates the premises in the middle of the night, but leaves the next month's rent in the office. If he was so obsessed with this girl....enough to do something like this to her, wonder what ever made him move away from her?”

“Maybe rejection.” the police sergeant shrugs, “He could've made his move on her, got turned down....got angry....moved away so he wouldn't be a present and immediate suspect once she wound up dead. Who knows? Maybe the killing wasn't even intentional. Like not premeditated.”

“You mean a 'heat of the moment' kinda thing? Like what? He got pissed off and just happened to have a ball bat handy? I don't buy it.”

“Neither do I, but when someone is crazy enough to kill somebody like the way she bought it, who knows what their motivation and reasoning for it is, right?” Melnick watches through squinted eyes as the medical examiner's team removes what's left of the girl's body from the back of the old van. “Guess we need to get back to that complex and question some more people. See if we can get a better description of this mystery guy.”

**************************************************


	23. Chapter 23

******************************************

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 

_Someday, when you find that one true love...._  
Who makes you feel like stars have dropped from the heavens  
To sparkle through her eyes whenever they look your way,  
And your spirit soars on a song for which no words are needed,  
As they were written by your heart to only exist in your soul.  
When you find that love someday, my sweet son, you will know....  
You will truly...know. 

He'd scribbled that old passage in one of his notebooks beneath the heading “Natalia” because for some reason those disembodied words of his mother's from ages ago had come back to him after a fever-induced dream months before the infamous Black Widow had slipped into his Quebec City apartment to hold him at gunpoint. 

Hell of a way to rekindle an old flame.

Yet here he is several weeks later, flame doused several times over with propellant and the size of a fucking warehouse fire because Bucky's heart still flutters unexpectedly at the realization that she's actually in his life again....that she's not just a dream, figment of his imagination or memory this time, and it both scares and amazes him how he can finally be distracted from loathing himself while those beautiful Spring green eyes are focused on him. 

_Someday, when you find that one true love...._  
Who makes you feel like stars have dropped from the heavens  
To sparkle through her eyes whenever they look your way, 

He's reminded of that again now as they sit together at The Finnegans dining table, chatting and sipping wine—apple juice for Emmy—after finishing off a hearty meal of roasted beef, broiled potatoes and fresh salad while Natasha gives him the occasional gaze to wordlessly inquire if he's okay and he either issues a subtle nod or a wink in response. 

No doubt she's noticed that there's been something extra off about him these past couple of days; the headaches, the increased fatigue and forgetfulness, staring off into the distance at absolutely nothing and everything horrible at the same time...

Bucky's just thankful that she understands. It's comforting to share life and a bed with somebody who's used to all the nightmares so he doesn't need to explain or even talk about them until he's ready. 

And tonight he just isn't in much of a talkative mood in general...doesn't necessarily have a whole lot to contribute to the current mode of conversation although he's enjoying listening to them all. Besides, what's he supposed to say to this nice, normal couple who wouldn't possibly be able to relate? 

_Hey, Seth, Em....do either of you ever get flashes of all the murders you've probably committed in your past, but can't quite remember the details of....like you actually relive stepping over corpses with their eyes bulging and throats slit and hearts ripped out, and you're pretty sure you're the one who did all that terrible stuff to 'em, but sometimes y'don't really give a shit and other times you're so horrified by it that you wanna blow your own brains out? Ever experience anything like that?_

Of course, this _is_ the norm for him, being mute; never really having had the chance to communicate much yet with people who aren't trying to help him elude HYDRA or hiding out with him in some safe house. His usual reserve is working out alright for him at the moment because Seth and Emily Finnegan are both super animated conversationalists and Natalia's always been great at verbal exchange with most anybody sans any help from him. Talking and knowing precisely what to say is one of her specialties where Bucky, as both an agent and assassin, has usually taken to being more the strong, silent and cautiously watchful party in their partnership.

He's also pretty sure he hasn't always been like this, but that the constant tampering with his brain over the past sixty-five or so years have worn parts of his born personality down and even stripped some of it away entirely. From the little bits he can recall of his previous life, the boy who grew up in Brooklyn had been quite the talker...even an exceptionally smooth one at times. Bit of a show-off. Especially with the ladies. And although the natural sarcasm and bite have somewhat returned to his interactions with the few people he's managed to establish some sense of comfort with—namely Natasha...and to some extent Ingrid and a couple of the other safe house staff, and possibly Seth and his neighbor Cynthia back in QC—the rest of James Barnes from long ago is most certainly gone. 

It's a damn shame, too, because Bucky hadn't really gotten a chance to even know the fella but thinks he probably would've liked him. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Emily “Emmy” asks her dinner guests, voice excitable enough to draw Bucky out of his own inner torment for a minute. 

“October, 2002....” Nat begins the story they'd rehearsed as she reaches over to rest a hand on his arm. The left one....its metal surface concealed by a long sleeve and black glove that is obviously a mystery Seth's wife would like to solve, but at the same time is trying really hard not to be so curious or rude about “....when Bucky started coming to the club my father and grandpa owned almost every night with his Army buddies.”

“Yeah...our unit was stationed in Berlin for a few months before a mission...” Bucky chimes in with a shy grin at her. “Nat was on stage singin' the first time I ever saw her there.... _Summertime_.”

“Oh, wow! Obviously made quite the first impression on _you_ , Bucky.” Emmy beams and then turns those bright, silver-gray eyes of hers on Natasha in surprise, “And really, Nat? You're a singer?”

Natasha's modesty isn't being put on as she shakes her head, “Yes, I sing and I like doing it. But I wouldn't really call myself a....”

“Bullshit....” Bucky intervenes gently, and he isn't putting on the act either. Not now. “...don't let her fool ya. Nat has the most amazing voice I've ever heard. Beautiful and unique....just like everything else about her.” He eases her hand from his arm up to his lips and plants a soft against her palm. 

Emily almost visibly melts. “Aw, you guys are too cute. So you've known each other for eleven whole years then?”

Natasha nods to confirm. “That's right, I was still just seventeen our first few weeks getting to know each other, and Bucky here was the only soldier I'd met up to that point who didn't say crude things to me but was more likely to bash in the teeth of those who did. He was very protective, which made a huge impression on my father. He wouldn't even kiss me on the lips until the night of my eighteenth birthday, and didn't “officially” ask me out until he'd gotten my parents' approval.”

Emmy sighs. “Sounds like something right out of a romance novel. Gotta love those chivalrous guys.” 

“Must've been rough on you two though...” Seth speaks up “...that young and together for only a short time before being forced apart when Bucky had to take off for his mission. By the way, exactly where was that mission, Buck....and how did you manage to make it back to your girl?”

Bucky's lips form a lopsided grin. “Nice try, kid, but I still can't tell you anything about my missions.”

Seth smirks into his next sip of wine and then chuckles. “Well, damn it. A guy's gotta make an attempt at least though, right?”

“Sure. The guy wouldn't be a very good reporter if he didn't.” Bucky compliments, saluting Seth with his own wine glass. “I will tell you that after that particular mission was over though, I went directly back to Berlin to settle in there with my sweetheart for a while.”

“And we haven't been apart since. He wound up staying in Berlin with me for a couple of years until we moved to Canada...” Natasha concludes the 'story' of their past romance. “...and that's where we finally got married.” She's even sporting a delicate diamond and platinum band to support the fabricated nuptials. 

Bucky, of course, has a good reason for not wearing a wedding band. But lately Natasha's been allowing herself to imagine him having something special engraved into his left ring finger if they were to get married for real. 

Not that she ever expects it to actually happen. 

“Wow, that's great! Even further proof that things just have a way of working out when they're really meant to be....” Emmy says, showing her adorably deep dimples. “...and that's obviously the case with you two, 'cause it sounds like it was love at first sight.”

“Hm, almost maybe,” Natasha replies to the young expectant mother with a grin, “...at least second or third sight.”

“First sight for _me_.” Bucky tells the brunette woman, “It's just that my wife wasn't as easy to convince.”

Nat smiles at Bucky. “Honestly though, seems like you appreciated the challenge.” 

“I still do.” he responds, trying to maintain an expression neutral enough to keep her from noticing the steadily growing rumblings of the brand new headache he can feel coming on. 

It doesn't work. Natasha, whose right hand has slid to his back as they've continued talking, gives it a soothing, circular caress, concern showing in the slight crease between her brows. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm Fine.” 

But she can see the truth in his eyes. 

She makes up her mind then and there that they're going to have to find some kind of way to cut the dinner date short, even if it makes them seem like ungrateful assholes. 

“Hey, Nat, I got the impression you were Russian...” Seth says to her, “I mean, you know, if that _is_ the language you two were speaking to each other in the bar that night we first met.”

“It was, and I am....born and raised in Moscow....” she expounds on the half-truth, managing to be polite without taking her attention fully away from Bucky “...but luckily my family defected to Germany when I was six.”

“Lucky in more ways than one,” Emmy states, her light gray eyes sparkling at the romance of their story, “...or you two might've never met. Fate clearly had plans for you both.” 

“Clearly...” Natasha responds as she lifts her wine glass to her lips for a taste. 

Bucky watches her movements, but they suddenly begin to look odd to him...jerky. Too slow. And then it's as if their entire surroundings start to shift and change....no longer a cozy, warmly lit dining room shared with friends but a dark, desolate and cold tomb-like space....and she's not Natasha anymore, but an older woman with hard features, a dark bobbed hair cut and laughter in her voice. 

Mocking laughter...

_“So, you are the revered Asset that I've heard so much about. Pitiful creature you are, being led around by his leash like a starved gutter dog. Down on your knees, Soldat! It's time for you to do as I command you to now!”_

_Goddamn it, no!_ Bucky's eyes snap shut, crinkling at the outer corners as he strains to hold them closed. Fuck no....not _this!_ It's no time for a fucking flashback....

 _Not here...not tonight. Not now. They can't possibly protect themselves from him if he loses control, even with Natasha's help! And why now? Why the fuck is this happening now, and why's it getting worse than it's been for months?_

He feels the gentle pressure of a hand land on his shoulder and it takes everything in him to keep from recoiling before he realizes that she's Natasha again. 

“It's another headache...” she says to no one in particular, but struggles to keep her tone calm and even when she turns to Emmy and Seth, “You know, I'm afraid my fella isn't feeling all that great this evening, so we may have to leave sooner than we'd wanted to. But, Emily, everything was really lovely and thank you so much for inviting us....and I'll tell'ya what. Maybe we can all hang out together again sometime soon and make a whole night of it? How's that sound to you guys?” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Bucky doesn't talk at all on the way home. 

And Natasha doesn't force it despite the shit-ton of questions racing through her mind. Instead, she simply drives them along the dark, winding roads in silence. No sound except the barely controlled rhythm of his breathing mingled with the steady swipe of the windshield wipers clearing droplets of a mild Autumn rain away from the SUV's glass. 

She glances at his profile. Sees no movement there either save for the occasional jaw clench or flutter of his long eyelashes as he stares out the passenger window at absolutely nothing, and her heart aches for him. Aches for all the conflicting emotions and feelings that she knows he's been battling with and keeping bottled up inside because he doesn't want to be a burden to anyone. 

Especially doesn't want to be a burden or hindrance to _her_. 

What the hell does she have to do to convince James that he could never possibly be anything but a blessing to her instead of what he believes he is? Words haven't been helping. Actions don't do a whole helluva lot either. 

She's losing him. Bit by bit...fragment by agonizing fragment, something is chiseling away at his mind and it's so incredibly painful to witness and have to experience. Again. 

Natasha really doesn't think she can survive it again. 

Once they're back in the safe house and locked securely away from the rest of the world and all potential outside harm, Bucky goes through the motions of preparing for bed in an almost robotic manner, his blue eyes still not quite as sharp or focused as she'd hoped they'd be by now. 

And he falls into a deep sleep almost immediately after they're in bed, curled over on his left side with his back to her and she feels more sad and restless than she has in a long time. 

Something had changed....has happened to him. Has _been_ happening to him gradually all along, but it's getting worse now, and she doesn't know exactly what the hell it is or how to fight it. 

_Invisible enemies are always the deadliest ones._

To keep her own tossing and turning from disturbing him although she doubts that it could, Natasha finally slips out of their bed around 1 am and takes the back stairs up to the next level so she can snuggle up with her laptop on the cold and lonely bed in her own private room. 

When the first thing she sees is the headline on a Quebec City News website, “ **Mutilated Body Identified as Local Missing Woman** ” her heart takes a rapid dive into the pit of her stomach. And after reading the article's first few paragraphs which confirm that the dead girl is Bucky's former neighbor Cynthia Baxter, Natasha runs into the bathroom where she spends the next fifteen minutes on her knees hugging the commode as Emmy Finnegan's painstakingly prepared meal makes an unwelcome reappearance. 

*************************************************


	24. Chapter 24

***************************************

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

It's beyond eerie, seeing her assumed name and identity plastered all over newsreels that have been playing on the hotel's TV screen since the previous day. She's seen them so much that she already knows what they're saying even with the sound on mute....

_“The body found in a van in the parking lot of a local abandoned warehouse has been identified as twenty-six year old Cynthia Elaine Baxter of Quebec City. Baxter was last seen seven days ago at her East Side residence before she went missing, her body discovered yesterday after a city-wide search. As of now there are no prime suspects wanted in connection with the apparent homicide, although a number of people are being questioned. One specific person of interest wanted for questioning is a former neighbor of Ms. Baxter's who goes by the name Ryan McGraw. McGraw is described as a man in his mid to late twenties, six feet tall, medium build weighing approximately one hundred and seventy pounds. He has long dark hair and blue eyes. This artist's sketch depicts how McGraw is believed to currently appear. If anyone sees a man fitting this description they are being advised to not approach him, but to call their local law enforcement or contact the Quebec City PD at 514-939-8088. We'll update you with breaking news on this story in the coming days...”_

She stares at her reflection in the mirror and wonders how she ever got to this point. Became this desperate, to be working with these sadistic people she doesn't even fully trust. The only thing she knows for sure is that the alternative is far worse.....

 _HYDRA._

Unwrapping the towel that's been absorbing moisture from her hair, she tousles her newly bleached blonde locks as they spill to her shoulders, and then gazes at the yellowish strands, momentarily mesmerized by how sharply they contrast the cobalt blue terrycloth of the robe she's wearing. 

It's been a long time since she's been quite so blond, her natural adult hair color finally having settled on being more a mousy brown with golden highlights. She had been a very pale blonde as a little girl though...back in those long lost days when she'd been carefree and happy, had a family and friends that knew and loved her for who she really was. All of that is gone now as HYDRA had taken it from her. Destroyed her life, her happiness. 

Killed the person she'd once been, and her morality right along with it. 

They'd done the same to The Soldier though, too, hadn't they? Extracted him from his life, removed him from his friends and family. For the little time that she'd spent with him, she'd been so painfully able to relate to the shell-shocked expression she too often caught in his eyes. That isolated, sad and unseeing gaze, which at other times was simply uncertain or even slightly afraid. Both wary and weary. Recalling it made her hate herself even more for what she was helping The HRI accomplish. 

But stealing HYDRA's most valuable weapon from them would be proof enough that their movement was one to be taken seriously. The uprising is real, and The HRI is a threat to all that she hates. 

That's the only reason she's working with them at all. 

Besides, now that it's come this far she has no other choice. There's no turning back. If she dares to betray them, she's as dead as the poor girl whose life had been snuffed in her place. 

At times she thinks it might not be such a bad option. 

The sharp knock on the hotel room's door rattles her already shattered nerves. She races to it on half trembling legs and then stands on her tip toes to peer through the peephole. After unfastening the deadbolt and chains, she opens it and steps aside to allow her visitor entrance. 

“We were finally able to confirm a location for The Soldier.” the tall platinum blond man begins informing her the moment he closes and locks the door behind him. “It appears that his body may have been initially rejecting the implant, which is what caused all of its previous malfunctions. Seems that the glitches have worked out of the system enough for it to be operational now. It should only be a short amount of time longer before we can implement the next phase.” 

“So, you're fully prepared to make him kill again? You all must realize that he's totally capable and has more than enough motive to destroy HYDRA on his own after all that they've done to him. Why not just leave him to it and then do whatever we can to aid him?”

“Not an option. Our way is best, shows them our strength....to have him killing HYDRA's key operatives for _us_.”

“Then that makes us no better than they are.”

“That's not true. We'll be protecting him...appreciative of him. He won't be treated as a prisoner any longer, but as the asset he _truly_ is. Revered. Practically worshiped. He'll be among those who don't take his lethal skills for granted. A commander in our rebellion against HYDRA. No more time wasted, suspended in cryostasis...”

“What's the difference when he'll still be controlled by a device that's no kinder than the ice chambers or electrocution he's been subjected to in the past?”

“The device is for _his_ protection as well as ours. We can track him, assist him when necessary, though I doubt he'll ever need it. And in our care, he'll be allowed to remain conscious at least. To live as a man rather than an animal. He can even train other members of the resistance as well as to fight and keep his skills intact. He'll also be allowed to work and to plan....to be treated as an officer and a soldier. A human being.”

“Yes, but still forcefully taken from the life he's living now. With Romanoff.”

“Agent Romanoff is nothing more than an interference in our plans. She'll either surrender him to us willingly and be allowed to live and rejoin her own cause, _or_ she'll die. It's as simple as that. She's expendable to us. The Soldier is the one we can't afford to lose.”

“But you have no problem killing the woman he loves? That's not going to make him very receptive to the idea of working with The HRI, is it?”

“No, normally it wouldn't. But if he kills her himself....it will help him to realize what an incredible danger he is to his loved ones, and I've no doubt that he'll become far more agreeable to our terms _then_...”

She shakes her head. “It's an evil plan...”

“But a very effective and meaningful type of evil, my dear...and don't forget, you're already an accomplice in the murders of several innocent people. You're suddenly above aiding us in a few more now, are you? Anyhow, I thought you fancied him yourself. What could Romanoff possibly mean to you?”

“It's...” she pauses, finding it harder to control her emotions than she'd prefer while talking to this unrelenting moron “...it's just....if she dies, then what becomes of the girl?”

His angular face hardens. “The same that will become of her even if Romanoff is allowed to live. It makes no difference, Veronika. She'll remain in Katya and Ava's care because she is purely HYDRA's concern now. No longer _yours_.”

“And someday, if she wishes to search for her....” but her inquiry ends abruptly when he grabs her by the upper part of her right arm, twisting it in his grasp. 

“If you know what's good for you, woman,” he growls, “you will keep your mouth _shut_ about it and never make mention of it again. Do you understand me?”

She struggles slightly to wretch herself out of his large-handed grip. “Yes.”

But it doesn't loosen. “You don't sound very convincing.” he continues through clenched teeth. 

“ _Yes!_ I understand!” 

“Good.” He releases his hold on her so roughly that it causes her to stumble. “Now, just you remember to keep that _understanding_ of yours very much intact from this point on, my dear, or it is going to end up costing your life. Be grateful that you mentioned her only to me and _not_ to Yegor. He's already pressing to find reasons not to trust you...and you're apparently not attempting to give him any.”

“That's because I hate him.”

“So do I,” the blond man responds with a nonchalant shrug. “But that's of no relevance. It's not required that we love one another in order to work toward this common goal. Correct?”

“I know that. And as I've said countless times before, Niko, I'll do my part. Anything to help take down HYDRA.”

“Excellent.” he saunters across the carpet on graceful steps and lowers himself into a seated position on the foot of her bed, his pale gray eyes focusing on the television as the news of Cynthia Baxter's death continues being shown. “Our decoy really was a very beautiful girl, you know. It was a shame to have to kill her and in such a terrible way, too. We did drug her first though...made it a bit more merciful. She had no clue what was coming.” Nikolay Ignatova casually picks up the TV's remote control and turns the sound on, eyes still trained on at it as a picture of a dark-haired Veronika Dashkov, aka Cynthia Baxter, is flashed on the screen. “Go get dressed now. Our flight leaves in two hours.” and then adds as she turns to walk away, “By the way, I liked you better as a brunette.”

 

******************************************


	25. Chapter 25

**************************************

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Due to extremely frightening events of her past, Natasha Romanoff has been desensitized enough to not be scared of much these days. 

As a KGB agent she'd come into close contact with and had eliminated some of the world's most notorious and ruthless underground leaders and dictators. As an Avenger she's fought both against and beside almighty gods, a Hulk and people with super-human strength as well as a few with the technological genius to create weapons and war machines with the ability to do far more destruction than most of the world would ever deem possible....

Yet, at the moment, James Barnes _is_ scaring her. 

Not frightening her in the way that one feels afraid of something or someone. No, she doesn't fear _him_. Not anymore, at least. 

She hasn't feared him in a long time. 

But his anger scares her for the fact that she knows it exists even when he's not showing it. Perhaps, _especially_ when he's not showing it, because she can still feel it stirring...senses it lurking just under the surface like lava churning beneath a cool crust of earth that will have no choice but prove too fragile when its hidden instability finally erupts. 

Worst of all, she's afraid that this kind of anger will ultimately be the thing that ends him. He's just seemed too detached and unaffected by the news ever since hearing it.

It's unnerving... 

And Natasha knows better than anyone that that's when James is at his most dangerous; when he's outwardly playing it cool while his brain works nonstop measuring and calculating every possible angle of what's eating away at him, all the while planning how to resolve and retaliate.

He's always been a stickler for the details buried within the consequences whenever someone crosses him. Had been that way even while brainwashed, it's such an innate part of his psyche. She's certain that it's one of the very reasons he'd been trained as a sniper during WWII, and also why HYDRA hadn't bothered replacing him all these years despite the occasional troublesome insubordination. 

He hasn't said a single word yet about the death of Cynthia Baxter, a former neighbor and associate that Nat knows damn well he'd liked; even enough for her to have felt more than just a passing twinge of jealousy toward the girl although knowing that she'd never really had any reason to worry.

Because James....or Bucky—and damn it to hell if she isn't growing extremely fond of that nickname—is far too loyal to ever stray from somebody he truly loves. His devotion is grounded. Unwavering. That's been proven to her time and again since it's not like the man hasn't had every opportunity to abandon her if he'd wanted. In the past there'd been women far more secure, financially sound, alluring and powerful than young, inexperienced Natalia who'd shown an avid interest in him. 

Her own handler Katya had even been one of them. 

And the thing that had reassured Nat most in regard to his loyalty was how he'd never given any of them so much as a second glance. 

Somehow though, the pretty brunette neighbor of his had been somewhat different. Maybe presented more of a potential challenge. He'd seemed taken aback that the girl had been kind to him before she'd had reason to be, or before anyone else had even bothered. He'd obviously been touched by the gesture, enough to rough up her boyfriend for being such an abusive asshole to her. 

Natasha has pondered what might've happened between Bucky and Cynthia down the line if she hadn't interfered by finding and then making him leave Quebec City with her. She wonders even more since hearing the news. Would he have gradually settled into a life of relative obscurity and comfort? Maybe even fallen in love again? 

Would the girl still be alive if Natasha had left the former Winter Soldier there to protect her? Or would he have also been killed by the ones who'd taken her out? Nat seriously doubts that they, whoever they are, could've survived making an attempt on Bucky's life. Which means that Cynthia Baxter wouldn't have died either. 

_Don't feel guilty, Natasha. Stop imagining what might have been. It's done now and there's no changing any of it._

She looks up from the pearly white suds dancing hypnotically in front of her to see him staring from the bathroom's arched doorway, watching as she soaks in the tub while sipping her white wine. His strong arms are folded across his broad t-shirt covered chest...smooth metal plates wound together with sinewy muscle. His irises appear a paler blue than they normally do because the skin bordering his eyes looks darker and more hollow than usual.

His voice, just like his gaze, doesn't waver...both maybe even a bit too steady. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks. 

Regardless what she senses of his demeanor, Nat, per usual, doesn't miss a beat. “That I should be asking _you_ that question instead of how this is playing out right now.” She plants her wine glass on the bathtub's ledge and then reaches up to secure the clip holding the thick red hair up from the back of her neck and shoulders, lips pursing in mild amusement. “Water's still hot if you wanna join me.”

Bucky looks at her for a few seconds more before stepping into the bathroom. “I'd join you if it felt like ice.” he responds, making her smile. He strips the t-shirt from his torso, peels the black CK boxer-briefs down and steps out of them. When he climbs into the oval-shaped tub with Nat, he settles in at the opposite end so he can still see her. 

“If you want to ask me something, sweetheart, just ask.” he finally says with a soft sigh as he relaxes against the tub's scooped marble across from her. 

She shakes her head. “I only said that I _should_ ask.....not that I'm sure I really want the answers.” Extracting the wine bottle from the ice bucket where it's been chilling on the tub's ledge, she fills a second glass and hands it over the suds to him. 

His eyes appear even more piercing as they lock on hers as he leans forward to accept the drink. “You're worried that I'm gonna vanish again.”

Her gaze slips away from his to study the silvery gold liquid swirling inside her own glass. “I'd be lying if I told you that I'm not concerned you'll do _something_ reckless.”

“They killed her because of me, Nat.”

 _Finally._ The words she's been waiting to hear. And dreading. Still, Natasha breathes a small sigh of relief. Doesn't matter where the conversation goes from here because at least he's not holding it in anymore. He's also given her the opening she needs to say a few things that she's been wanting to. 

_Needing_ to. 

“We don't really know who they even are yet, Bucky.” she reminds him, using her challenging tone on purpose. Telling herself that even if it pisses him off, it's better than getting no reaction at all. 

“ _I_ do. And so do you when you're being honest with yourself.” he persists. 

She shakes her head. “No, I don't. It's too neat...too easy. If it was HYDRA, they could've just taken you by force months ago like they've done countless times before. Why bother leaving a big mess behind? I doubt they'd risk it.”

Bucky continues staring at her, the familiar frown line forming between his brows as he blinks a few times rapidly and then takes a bigger swallow of the cool liquid in his glass. 

It's a tell of his that Nat easily recognizes; a sign of his mounting irritation. 

“They'd risk whatever it takes to punish me for going against my usual orders.” he insists. “Slaughtering innocent people that I've come into contact with while continuing to disobey them is something they'd consider effective and well worth the goddamn mess, Nat. It's called revenge. Plain and simple.”

“James....” she begins, fighting to keep her voice steady even though she wants to strangle him for being so goddamned stubborn, “these murders....they don't necessarily have HYDRA's mark written on them.” 

“HYDRA's mark is to gain and maintain absolute control through mayhem and the destruction of innocent life...”

“Come here.” 

The sudden switch in her game plan totally throws off his pending argument. “What?” he blinks again. 

“Come here and turn around,” Natasha expounds on the initial command, “I'll do your back for you.”

Despite being slightly upset, Bucky follows her suggestion so automatically that he doesn't take the time to think about it. He simply moves and then settles down in the hot water again between her knees, his back to her. But unlike all the other times they've been in this exact position, Natasha can feel the tension in his expansive shoulders as she swipes the soapy sponge over them. 

“I'm sorry if my hesitance to agree is pissing you off.” she says.

The short laugh he emits is strained. Bitter. “I just don't get exactly what the fuck you think is needed here, Nat. Does HYDRA have to leave a goddamn calling card now as proof of their crimes?” he asks her, swallowing the last of his wine around the growing tightness in his throat before placing the enpty glass on the ledge. “The Nordstrom kid...no apparent training, no criminal record or past. Not even a fucking traffic ticket...but yeah, he suddenly goes on a killing spree—while singing praises to the Winter Soldier, and in Russian, no less—that ends with him offing dear old mom before he eats a bullet himself. Yeah, I'm so fucking sure that that was _totally_ coincidental....”

“I've never refuted that it's all connected in some way....”

“And now Cynthia....and what they say was done to her....” he swallows hard. 

Natasha's heart hitches at the way his words trail, hurting for him with the knowledge that he can't even bring himself to describe what they'd heard about the girl's murder. “I know....” she responds with sympathetic tenderness as she begins stroking strands of dark damp hair away from the back of his neck. “That's just one of the many reasons I don't think it was HYDRA, Bucky. They don't normally operate like......”

His muscles instantly tense beneath her touch. “You're actually going to fucking sit here and tell _me_ how the fuck HYDRA operates! _Seriously_ , Nat?” 

_That's good_ , she thinks. Two F-bombs in a single sentence. It's been a while since she's gotten that from him unless it's been during the deed dirty talk, so yeah....she's definitely getting through to him in some fashion. 

“Okay...” she says softly, keeping her voice steady. She strokes his neck and shoulder again, then takes a sip from her glass and sits it next to a candle on the tub's ledge, “...that was super thoughtless of me. If you honestly believe HYDRA's behind this, then that's what you have to go with, but all the same, I feel like I _have_ to keep exploring other options. I don't know....my gut keeps telling me that these crimes are way too out-in-the-open and sloppy to be HYDRA. And while I realize that you know how they operate probably better than anybody who _isn't_ Steve Rogers, I hope you'll also try to understand that I'm speaking from an ex-KGB perspective. There's something about this whole goddamn deal that rings way too familiar for me to just discard all the other possibilities, James, and that's not about me trying to undermine you. It _is_ about me trying not to leave any stone unturned because your life could depend on it.”

“Sometimes I really wish you'd stop giving so much of a damn about my life.”

“....and the rest of the time?”

“You already know....I'm grateful that you care, even if I know I don't deserve it.”

The minutes that follow are filled with a mournful kind of silence as Natasha scoots close to Bucky in the sudsy hot bath water, fitting herself to the back of him to comfortingly wrap her arms around his torso and press her cheek to his damp skin, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat through that warm valley nestled between his shoulder blades. 

It saddens her to feel their days together drawing to a close. More than she's ever felt it before. Because James doesn't think he deserves any happiness, believing that his contentment will only result in pain for those who can't protect themselves. 

He'll never allow it to carry on this way. Letting innocent lives be lost in exchange for his freedom. 

And Natasha knows that her only chance of saving him from destruction and from self-destruction is to find the ones responsible. Quickly. 

Their time is running out. 

********************************************


	26. Chapter 26

*************************************

 **Chapter Twenty-Six**

It's been almost a week since he's slept. 

Just like that....he'd stopped being able to. Of course, slumber has never really come easy for Bucky, not for quite some time at least. Oh sure, maybe back _then_ it had, back in Brooklyn when he'd been just a kid. He can even sort of remember what it'd felt like to be so damn tired that he could barely keep his eyelids from collapsing on each other, and his bed, no matter the lack of a soft pillow, warm blanket or fresh sheets, had been a welcome friend when it was finally time for his body to retire from a day of hard work or equally hard play. 

More recently, Natasha's presence has been helping him get to sleep, the very way it had worked that same kind of magic in Moscow for a short while. But now even her warm body curled against and around his feels like a luxury he doesn't deserve to enjoy, and when he closes his eyes the only thing he sees is blood and pain, death and destruction. Along with all the lives taken both by the Winter Soldier _and_ because of him. 

He can't imagine that sleep will ever come easy to him again. 

So in order to keep from disturbing Natasha with his restlessness—since he's certain that she can feel it—he's been leaving the bedroom they share for the past few nights once he's sure she's sound asleep. Sometimes he goes to his favorite lounge inside the safe house, the one with all the huge glossy photos of wintry mountains and bleak skies. Most of the time, however, he goes outdoors and sits on the long column of rustic wooden steps that lead down to the beach to watch the sun peek over the ocean's surface alone.

On some mornings like this he can even feel her watching him from one of the safe house's distant windows, and it makes him ache inside to hurt her this way. She'd be so much better off without him. And given that thought, he knows that he absolutely _should_ go. 

If she's true to her word, maybe his leaving will finally kill her love for him and give her the freedom to move on. Actually, she's already said as much.... 

_“I sense a lot of stupid, half-assed plans rolling around inside your brain, James, and I swear to God, if you carry out any of them....if you cut out on me this time, I never want to see you again. Ever. And I fucking mean that.”_

It's the one promise he's hoping she can keep. If only he was courageous enough to give her a good enough reason to. 

How do you willingly let go of the only inkling of happiness you've known? How do you leave it behind? Sure, he could still stick around to watch over her from afar. Better never let her find out about it though, but he could do it. He could linger in her orbit just long enough to make sure she doesn't have any trouble following her because of him, and in the process, assure himself that she's truly moving on. At least that would ease his mind to know for sure that she's safe before he vanishes for good. 

He might even have to torture himself and stick around long enough to see her find love again someday. Maybe with another agent or a scientist. She's always been attracted to brilliance, and a guy has to be pretty goddamn intelligent to even reach a level of being able to connect with her emotionally. 

_What about you, Barnes? Are you a smart guy? Are you brilliant enough for a woman like Natalia?_

He doesn't see himself that way, no...but once upon a time he'd gotten pretty damn good grades in school despite suffering from an empty belly half the time or lack of sleep the other half for having had to take care of baby sisters while his mom lay in her bed gasping, sobbing and writhing in agony. 

The doc had already told them it was some kind of cancer and there was nothing that could be done for it. He actually remembers that. 

He also remembers her eyes, big and blue like his....hollowed out and surrounded by darkened skin. The exact same kind of eyes that have been staring back at him from the mirror lately. 

_“Take care of my little girls, Bucky boy. I trust you to do that. Your daddy's gonna be real sad, probably drinking more than usual if he's even around much at all. But you're my big boy now, and mama trusts you to do the right thing. Promise me, Bucky boy. Please, promise me?”_

Her friends and family had called her Cricket as a girl. It's a nickname that had stuck, too, just like his had. But she was actually Winifred Christina Barnes. Natasha had researched a bit and found that out for him, so now he struggles desperately to keep that morsel of information locked inside his mind and safe. Even knowing that he can lose it again at any time. 

Because his headaches are becoming more frequent and growing more intense, too. They often leave big holes, gaping spaces in his mind that can't be easily refilled. And he can literally feel something dark scratching at the surface....trying to seep in and replace the very few real memories that he has left. 

_I need to get the hell out of here and far away from everybody before I do something too destructive to ever recover from. No one close to me is safe from HYDRA...or from the thing that HYDRA has created._

And then as if by some miracle, a tiny, squeaking noise that's barely audible over the crashing waves is what finally draws Bucky away from his inner turmoil. A sound so small that if it had not been detected by the super-soldier's keen hearing, it likely never would have been heard at all. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Natasha wakes at dawn, she rolls over to a vast and empty space in the bed beside her. No surprise really, because she knows that he hasn't been sleeping lately and that he sneaks out of the room to keep from bothering her. It just drives her a little bit crazy, the way her heart plummets at that initial moment when she's yanked from slumber and jolted back into the harsh reality of him not being there in bed next to her. Has to experience again and again the fear that he's vanished back into the ether the way he's done so many times before. 

_“You must face the truth, Natalia, that if you haven't found him by now, it is most likely because he's dead.”_

Seemed like the sadistic assholes used to get a real kick out of telling her such horrible things. Especially that bitch Katya. Probably because James had not chosen her instead, so she was being especially vindictive. 

It's a damn good thing that Natasha had never given any credence to their claims or she might've missed out on what have been some of the best moments of her life so far. She just hates that she still has to worry about _this_ , that all the forces of corruption and darkness won't finally leave them to live in peace. Won't leave _him_ to live out the rest of his life without the constant threats that have plagued him for decades still looming overhead. 

After checking the window to see if he's on the beach, she treads down the corridor to take a peek into his favorite lounge. _Empty, goddamn it._ She then makes her way into the main part of the ground level and is instantly relieved to find him sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, albeit with his back to her, hunched over to peer at something that's on the floor in front of him. 

And then she hears it....

The insanely high-pitched little yeowl. 

“What the hell?” Natasha scowls in confusion, very much in need of a hot shower and morning coffee before hearing any ear-splitting noises. 

Bucky twists around in his chair to look at her, eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief she's personally happy to see again. “Well, good morning to you, too, angel.”

“What did you do, Barnes?” she asks warily, inching closer to see whatever it is that's holding her man's attention to the kitchen floor between his bare feet. The 'thing' in question looks like a black ball of fuzz with furry little bat-like ears, and when its wide surprised eyes meet Natasha's for the first time, it's little mouth opens to show off a baby-sized set of sharp fangs as it hisses. “What the actual _hell....”_ she tries again. 

“It's called a kitten, doll.” Bucky flashes his lopsided grin at her, “I think it's a boy, too, though I can be more sure of that once it feels at home enough to let me get a closer look. So....guess we'd better make a trip into town later to get some cat supplies, huh?”

*******************************************************


	27. Chapter 27

*************************************

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

 

Seth's blood suddenly runs cold, just like streams of ice water in his veins....

Because Ryan McGraw, wanted in connection with the murder of a young woman in Quebec City, Canada is staring back at him from his laptop screen; a police artist's rendering that looks precisely like the man they'd invited into their home for dinner just a little over a week ago. 

The eyes....they'e unmistakable. Big sorrowful eyes that have seen far too much suffering, begging for understanding and sympathy one minute, but can fix themselves into a glare of contempt the next. 

No wonder Bucky has those migraines. He could be one of those rare remorseful murderers who experience a form of guilt for their acts. Maybe suffers from some type of severe mental illness and can't even control the urge to kill, or doesn't know he's doing it at the time. Seth's researched plenty of people like that, murderers who describe their crimes as out-of-body events that they don't have any choice about committing. 

And what about Natalie, Bucky's wife? Is she some kind of accomplice? Maybe she's covering for him, or even totally unaware of what kind of sadistic man she's married to. 

Her life could be in danger, too. 

Is he really ex-military, a war veteran? Could be that the years of combat and killing from a sense of duty have twisted his mind into something that can't be straightened out again. An extremist case of PTSD.

Holy shit. 

“That's crazy isn't it?” 

The sudden presence of another sound in the office besides his own unsteady breathing and heart thumping in his ears rattles Seth in his desk chair. 

He whips around to see his colleague Martin Hayes, the proverbial superior ass-kissing reporter who's worked his way up from the mailroom within the past two years just because he's related to the newspaper's district manager. By marriage, no less. 

“What?”

“The murder of that Canadian chick.” Martin elaborates, “Did you see the crime scene photos, man? They're gory as fuck. Her head was totally bashed in, had to be identified by fingerprints and shit. Cops think the killer might've used a baseball bat or a metal pipe.”

_Or a prosthetic arm that could be made of anything. Bucky has quite the steely grip, something Seth knows firsthand._

_Fuck, fuck, fuck....._

His first instinct is to call Emmy and warn her in case Natalie happens to try to contact her again. Or she happens to encounter either Bucky or Nat while she's out someplace running errands or baby shopping with her mom. 

But then, being the reporter he is, thinks it's better to play this a completely different way. If Bucky really is this Ryan McGraw person...or vice-versa....he's obviously in New York now because he knows he's being sought and he's hiding out. 

Seth may be small in frame and stature...may be considered a coward by many. But he's a reporter first and foremost, and by extension, an investigator. He can break this case and help the authorities bring a murderer to justice....

Or he can free a brave war veteran of all suspicion if he truly is an innocent man. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

This many years later and Natasha still appreciates the way James' face looks when he frowns in confusion along with the adorable way his top lip curls as he asks a question.

And sweet Jesus if she doesn't think of even more little things she loves about the man for every single minute of every day that they spend like this...just being themselves. Together. Makes her feel like some silly teenager in love for the first time. 

It's a good feeling.

“What the hell kind of name is _that_ for a cat?”

“It's the kind I've chosen, that's what kind...” 

“But what does it even mean? He's a special little guy, y'know. His name needs to have some significance.”

“Oh, but it _is_ significant.” she explains patiently, and for probably the fifth or sixth time, “It means 'rare and precious' in Hawaiian.” 

Bucky scrunches his nose as the hyperactive kitten nips at the tip of it and then flips over before sprawling across his neck to start a wrestling match with his chin. “Liho though? Really?”

Nat grins and scratches its furry little belly, instantly encouraging even more patting at and biting on Bucky's stubble. “Yes.”

“Sounds too much like Leo. And why did you choose a Hawaiian name anyway?”

“Why? You got something against Hawaii?”

“No. Just curious.”

“Because lately I've been crushing on this guy named Keanu, who also has a Hawaiian name.”

“Oh, yeah? Who the hell is this Keanu person then?”

It's so cute to her that he genuinely doesn't know. “He's this really hot movie actor and no, I don't know him personally so there's no reason to get uptight. But, damn, I'm gonna have to show you _Point Break_ and _Speed_ for our next movie night now, aren't I? Well, anyhow, his first name Keanu, last name Reeves, and he used to be best known for playing the role of some air-headed stoner dude named Ted Theodore Logan in the Bill  & Ted movies. I think there are a couple of those. Hmm, I should probably show you those first so you can experience the evolution of Keanu's career like the rest of modern civilization has....meaning we'll have to eventually delve into _The Matrix_ trilogy, too. Anyway, he's this huge action star now, and interestingly enough, I hear his next role is gonna be this kickass assassin...can't wait to see _that_....”

“Great, Tash...but what does it have to do with...?” he points at the kitten.

“It's all perfectly relevant....”

“Oh, yeah...'cause you're giving our cat a Hawaiian name just because it reminds you of this moviestar fella you're crushing on so damn much?”

“That's right. But if it makes you feel any better, Keanu's the mysterious loner-type who has pretty eyes, is about six feet tall, usually sports scruff and long dark hair, so I _clearly_ have a type. And did you just say _our_ cat?”

He nods as he lifts the kitten off the lower half of his face to place it on his stomach instead, grinning as it scrambles back up his torso to attack his chin again. “Yup. And?”

“Makes things sound....sort of _official_ , doesn't it, Sarg?”

“Well, yeah...I guess so.” he responds, mouth quirking up higher at one corner as shrugs against the pillows he's reclined against. He's not going to deny it. Besides, why deny? Bucky doesn't know how many more chances he'll have to make his true feelings known. “You gotta remember though, angel, while there may have been some lapses here and there when I was in the deep freeze, from my point of view there hasn't really been much time when we weren't official. I've never been in love with anyone else. It's _always_ been you, Natalia.”

And this, Nat recalls, is one of the many reasons she's so gone for the guy; he can say the sweetest, most romantic things and they're never said under any pretense. He doesn't put up a romantic front. James just is who he is, and he says what he thinks. 

Her gaze softens as she watches him continue to play with the kitten that's now sprawled on its back in the concave of his chest, tiny paws, claws and teeth attacking his metal fingers. It's a sight that makes her hopeful. Causes her to imagine things that she's almost afraid to; the two of them sharing a loft apartment in the city. Or a cozy little property nestled somewhere in the core of the suburbs with friendly neighbors and a small back yard that Bucky can garden in. Or maybe they can even move to another location altogether....find a big old house in the country further north of New York so she can still be reachable enough for Avengers business while spending all of her free time with her two boys, James and Liho. 

“You sound like a completely different man than the one I've been talking to for the past few days....because that _other_ guy,” she shakes her head sadly as she reaches out to affectionately brush long dark strands away from his brows, “he scared the hell out of me....sounded like he was ready to give up...”

“Look, Nat,” he shifts his head on the pillows so their gazes meet, “I'd be lying if I tried to say that my depression doesn't make me feel completely hopeless a lot of the time....which also encourages me to say a lot of crazy shit. But you already know that.” Then his eyes drop again to look at the tiny cat who's still making big metal chew toys of his cybernetic digits. “Cynthia's death....it really affected me....”

“I know it did.” she slowly releases a breath that she didn't even realize she'd been holding, “I know you cared a lot about her.”

“She was a sweet, caring person who didn't deserve what happened to her. And even though I never got a chance to know him, I'm pretty sure Vernon Nordstrom didn't deserve it either, nor did his mom or any of the people he injured and killed in that shopping mall.”

“True, and I get that you feel responsible somehow....”

Bucky nods, “You're right...I do. But I also have to remember where I stand...remember what's right; which side I'm on. Giving up and giving in isn't going to stop terrible things from happening to innocent people. It's not going to stop HYDRA...” he gives her a pointed look to acknowledge her previous disagreement “...or _whoever's_ responsible. Doll, I think I'm finally starting to remember who Bucky Barnes is....and as far as I can recall he's never been the kind of guy who resigns himself to failure or gives in without putting up a goddamn good fight. I just don't want anybody else to become a casualty in my war. You included.” Adds with a sad smile, “Or you _least_ of all really, because I just couldn't...” he swallows emotionally “....I couldn't handle that, baby. I'd lose the last shred of sanity I've been clinging to and wouldn't give a damn who tried to get in my way. I'd kill them all without blinking an eye....”

And Natasha knows how true that is, can feel the certainty and gravity of his promise. 

“I can take care of myself, James.” she reassures him. “I should be the last person you're worried about.” 

“Yet, you're not. Funny how that works.”

“Yeah, hilarious.” She leans in to plant a soft kiss to his lips but it's short-lived due to the tiny sharp claws that assault her chin the moment it's close to Bucky's. “Hey.... _ouch!_ ”

Their gazes drop to the midnight black kitten who's stretched out comfortably on Bucky's chest, big round bluish colored eyes staring at them in a silent challenge. 

The former Winter Soldier shakes his head and chuckles, “Rare and precious, huh?”

“Shut it.”

“Hey, his name's on _you_ , sweetheart. He never promised to live up to it.” He shoves himself off their bed's pillows, taking the tiny fur-covered weapon with him as he stands up. “C'mon, Liho....time for you to get used to your cat bed....before Mommy changes her mind about how cute you are and makes you use the beach for a litter box again.”

Natasha smiles as she watches her guy carry their kitten into the master suite's luxurious bathroom where his toys, covered litter container—Bucky “He deserves privacy, too” Barnes had insisted upon it—and plush little bed have been placed. 

Yeah, she's pretty damn sure she could get used to this. 

And she's more than just a little afraid she already has. 

 

*************************************************************


	28. Chapter 28

**********************************

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight**

The “device” had originally been developed to inflict torture on the enemy as well as be an effective method of control; its bio-mechanics extremely intricate, microscopic enough for it to be injected just below the base of the skull and into the brain stem where it would then send electronically-powered signals through the central nervous system to manipulate its carrier. It's a design that Yegor von Halkein considers one of his greatest while working for an organization that he now abhors and is determined to bring down. 

His creation was never specifically intended for implementation in the Winter Soldier Program, but once all of the prototypes aside from The Asset had become collasal disappointments and were determined unusable for deployment in the field, they'd been used instead as test subjects for Yegor's device. Unfortunately, it still failed to manipulate or tame them. The damage done by the generic reconstruction of the super serum was too massive. Therefore, all six of the “tests” had been destroyed when the device had only worsened their conditions. 

Given those incidents, it was with great trepidation that Yegor and his fellow rogue colleagues had decided to inject The Asset with the latest design of his creation, the WaSP-7. They knew that carrying out the decision was done with great risk, not only due to the possibility of irreversibly damaging HYDRA's key weapon, but also due to the fact that if they were suspected of insubordination or caught carrying out their own agenda against the agency, they'd be executed swiftly and with no chance for self-defense. Never the less, they'd all agreed that Dr. von Halkein would inject the device into the stem of the soldier's brain immediately after removing him from cryostasis prior to his upcoming mission in Alaska. It was the only time when the secret procedure could be done, given that Yegor was the staff scientist assigned to prep The Asset for his mind erasure process. 

The injection of the device itself had been no problem, not that Yegor had expected it to be. The soldier was always incoherent and helpless as a baby for several hours after being brought out of a freeze chamber. The doctor had been instructed to monitor his vitals until they stabilized and then allow him a short recovery time prior to prepping him for the mission. 

The rest had been easy. 

However, they now have no doubt that the WaSP-7 had been somehow damaged during the soldier's mind-wiping and reprogramming process, even though Yeagor and his assistant Veronika Dashkov had done the honors themselves. The device's presence was also most likely the reason that this time, the soldier's mind hadn't been wiped sufficiently enough to force him to surrender to his handlers the way he normally did following missions. Instead, he'd murdered the HYDRA agents who'd accompanied him to Anchorage and then vanished into the night without a trace....

That is, until approximately six months later when WaSP-7 had miraculously thrown its glitch and the reawakened tracking function had led them to his location in Quebec City....precisely as it had originally been designed to do in the event of a prisoner's escape.

Fully functional once again, and for the first time ever after being inserted into a subject, Yeagor von Halkein relishes his own successful creation and how through a computer program...through a simple operating system that signals from a satellite, he can control the thoughts, the dreams, the nightmares and actions of one of the most dangerous men to ever exist in history....

The Asset aka _The Winter Soldier_. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes formerly of the US Army's 107th Infantry Regiment, Captain America's right hand and key Strategist/Sniper for The Howling Commandos. 

And for this feat, Dr. von Halkein considers _himself_ a living legend as well; the very one worthy of finally shutting down HYDRA and replacing it with his own organization. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Bucky can't believe he'd been wrong for the past week and a half, but there it is....

Or rather, there it _isn't_. No place for a tiny retractable penis. No furry little balls. He'd simply fooled himself into believing that the kitten's junk just hadn't fully developed yet.

But he'll be damned if Liho isn't a _girl_. 

And Natasha's smirking at him over her shoulder as she prepares the pancake mixture Inga had given her the recipe for because the proud father of a baby cat son has just discovered that he's the papa of a little furry daughter instead. 

He looks absolutely shell-shocked and she's reveling in it. 

“I swear, Nat...every time I looked I thought I could see something that resembled a little prick down there..." he squints as he studies the cat again just to make sure, "....and with her litter box being covered, I guess I just never noticed before....”

“Aw, it's okay, baby, you were just seeing what you wanted to see...but it's time to face it, your sweet little Liho is a female. I don't know about you, but it certainly makes _me_ appreciate her more.”

“...and _you_ named her Liho....” he sneers accusingly. 

“It's still fine. It's a unisex name.”

“Yeah, right....I bet it's not.”

“It is if I _say_ it is.”

“I'm outnumbered.” Bucky mutters in disbelief. He flips the kitten back over in his hands and strokes behind her ears, making her purr. “Liho, you should've said something. Could've warned me by at least acting more like a girl or.... _somethin'_. Geez.”

Natasha shoots a playful scowl at him. “And exactly what does _acting like a girl_ entail? For instance, how do I act like a girl? Do I shoot like a girl? Fight like a girl? Kick big, burly guys' asses like a girl?”

“No.” he answers quickly. “I mean, you shoot and fight like _you_....” his lips quirk into a half grin as he adds, “....y'know, like a badass.”

Nat nods her approval. “Good answer. I've trained you well.”

Bucky chuckles. “I just mean....girls are usually kind of flirty with me. And so far, Liho's been very resistent.”

“That's crazy talk. She's all over you. Always following you with her eyes, aware of your every move. Just look at her.....”

He does, and his heart melts at the sight of the little bluish-gray orbs that stare back at him. “She's special, isn't she?” He looks up from the kitten at Natasha's back as she continues mixing the pancake batter in a huge bowl on the granite counter top. “Are you gonna keep her?”

“You've already kept her. What choice do I have but to keep her with you? She's mainly your cat though, Barnes....remember that....”

“No, she's _ours_.” he corrects his girlfriend for what seems like the thousandth time. “And I was talkin' about if something happens to me....will you keep her?”

Whirling away from her work at the counter, Natasha fully intends to give him her best killer glare but fails as soon as she sees the earnest worry in his big blue eyes. “Nothing's going to happen to you. Stop talking like that, I'm serious.”

“I can see that. But just to satisfy my curiosity.....”

 _Goddamn James and his legendary stubbornness!_ “Alright then....in the rarest of chances that something actually happens to prevent you from taking care of Liho yourself, _of course_ , I'll step up and take fantastic care of her. But since that's not going to happen, you don't need to worry about it. Okay?”

Bucky doesn't answer, just continues petting the kitten. 

It's a damn good thing that he has the foresight to put her down safely and watch her scamper away to bat at her toys just before the blinding pain stabs his temples, causing him to double over, lurch violently forward on the chair and then collapse in an unconscious heap on the floor. 

*******************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who's still reading this, I'm sorry I've been away for a while. I had a really busy latter part of summer and early Fall, but I'm trying to continue writing this again because I most certainly want to complete this story. I know exactly where I want to take it, it's just a matter of making the time to give to it. I take pride in creating plot lines that will further involve and weave the characters into the story. I don't want to just rush it along simply for the sake of getting to the conclusion. 
> 
> Also, I truly love Natasha and Bucky; they're my favorite MCU and Marvel comic characters. I feel like I owe it to them, as well as to my readers, to take my time and do a good job. Thank you for all the lovely comments, kudos and views! You all keep me encouraged.


	29. Chapter 29

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**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

_The Saiga semi-auto fit against his metal arm like a sleek black extension of it as he crouched behind the snow-covered boulders, cold blue eyes peering through the weapon's scope, sights trained on a small dark gray sedan, winter billowing from beneath its tires as it fast approached from the distant North._

_Primary target: Dr. Kenneth Schlesinger, biochemist, nuclear engineer and former associate of Peggy Carter's who'd been residing in the Ukraine, now seeking safe passage to the border, after which his destiny would be Dublin for a hearing to testify precisely how he'd been employed by and developing chemical weapons for the KGB since 2004, even though the organization had supposedly been defunct since 1991._

_Secondary target: Dr. Schlesinger's escort, Soviet Agent Yelena Belova. The Asset had been thoroughly briefed on Belova. Her choice of weaponry and fighting techniques, in case there came a need for hand-to-hand engagement._

_He wasn't planning on it._

_To kill Schlesinger and leave no witnesses was his mission. Two clean hits, the scientist and then the agent before she could retaliate. If anyone else was accompanying the fleeing pair or unfortunate enough to be caught in the vicinty and happened to witness the assassinations, he was to immediately take them out as well._

_Long range shots if possible. Simple kills with untraceable ammunition, same as always._

_For some unexplained reason, however, the assignment had not been so simple after all._

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dr. Helen Cho doesn't quite know what to expect after Fury's cryptic call. Only that it's an urgent matter and that Agent Romanoff requires her immediate assistance at a safe location somewhere near The Hamptons.

Agent Maria Hill, an apprentice of Coulson's, had come along to accompany the chopper pilot. Not like Cho can't take care of herself—she most definitely can—but it does feel more reassuring to have an escort who was personally trained by someone as competent and loyal to SHIELD as the late Phil Coulson for her impromptu trip.

“We'll be on standby a few miles from here.” Hill informed the physician as she made her way to the safe house's roof entrance from the helipad. “If at any point during your time inside the safe facility you feel compromised, you know what to do. Good luck, Dr. Cho.”

Yes, she knew what to do. There is a special code implanted in her cell phone. Press one button, even while it's powered down, and SHIELD will have the entire area surrounded and then infiltrated inside two minutes.

So, no....she's not concerned for her own safety. Not being this well-prepared to expect even the unexpected.

What she isn't expecting is the sweet-faced little apron-wearing lady whose accent sounds a bit Hungarian greeting her at the upper level entrance. Once inside, she also doesn't expect to see Agent Romanoff wearing an uncharacteristically worried expression while gazing at a bed where a dark-haired man lies, clearly unconscious. 

“He's been out since this morning.” Natasha offers a monotone explanation before the doctor can even ask for one. “No warning...nothing. He was fine and talking one minute, and collapsed on the floor the next. Hasn't stirred since.”

Helen Cho doesn't hesitate. She rushes toward the bed and puts the medical tote she's carrying at the foot of it. “Has he suffered any recent head trauma? What's his medical history? Any injuries or illnesses that you're aware of?” She retrieves a small light from one compartment of her case and opens the man's eyes to check his pupils. 

Dilated. Fixed. Cloudy. 

Not one good sign to be found so far. She's almost surprised when she's able to detect a pulse at the side of his neck, even though it's dangerously faint. 

“His history has been nothing but trauma.” Natasha rises from the chair to watch the doctor listen to Bucky's heart through her stethoscope. “He was a prisoner of war, experimented on by HYDRA and the KGB. He's been consistently subjected to brainwashing and memory erasure techniques for the past several decades....mainly through electrocution and shock torture.”

“Decades?” Dr. Cho's dark eyes rivet on Nat and her brows lift. “He looks about thirty.”

“Cryo-stasis.”

“A chamber, I take it? Not natural conditions like Rogers?”

Natasha wishes she could tell Cho more about Bucky's past with The Captain, but even though she trusts the woman, her instincts hold her back.

Instead, her silence speaks volumes. 

The doctor shakes her head, “That's too bad. I should've figured that though when you said he'd been imprisoned by HYDRA. But I'm curious, why is he here, Agent Romanoff? He should've been taken to one of our medical facilities.” 

“Are you kidding?” Nat scoffs, “I had to force him out of a little hole-in-the-wall apartment by gunpoint to even get him _here_ where there's nobody but me, a cook and a few people who do housework and landscaping. You honestly think I could've gotten him to check into a fully staffed facility for groups of strangers to poke and prod him after everything he's already been through? There's no way that was gonna happen...not while he's breathing.”

Cho releases a sigh and nods in agreement. “It's alright. I get it. It's fortunate that you got him here when you did. He could've died if he'd been left on his own....” she studies Natasha's face for a moment, noting the stunned expression “You very likely saved his life by calling me when you did.”

Gazing down at Bucky, Nat bends over to tenderly stroke a few dark strands away from his brow. “Hear that, y'big doofus? Told ya I would.” she says softly before turning her attention back to The Avengers trusted physician. “Alright, doc...I want to help. What do we need to do first?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_The first shot blew out the left front tire. The vehicle skidded wildly, hit the slippery embankment and then rolled off the road's right shoulder. He thought that this might be the end of it, knowing that at the far side of this particular road was a steep decline and then a fifty foot drop onto mounds of snowy boulders below._

_But then he caught sight of Belova's golden blonde head as she climbed back onto the road, urging the scientist to remain close behind her as she aimed her Luger in his general direction._

_It was a slick move that made The Asset admire her. The agent wasn't going to be an easy kill, but it had to be done._

_From that point on, he knew precisely what Belova would do before she even did it, so he calculated his next move instantly. He rose slightly from his crouched position and hefted the rifle up, centering his targets in the crosshairs of the scope to prepare for the long range shots it would take to finish them off._

_That was when she looked directly at him, eyes widening...painted ruby lips parting in stunned silence....._

_And contrary to what he'd ever felt about any mission assigned to him before this, the soldier suddenly froze, his blood running colder than a cryo-chamber had ever left it._

_If he'd never gotten a clear look at her face or hesitated long enough to see the spark of recognition flash in her eyes, Belova would've been dead along with her charge and The Asset would've reported back to his superiors to inform them that the mission had been completed successfully...._

_“No....” his mind echoed a simultaneous whisper and scream into itself “...you...can't be...”_

_Schlesinger was crouched low and slightly behind her left side, maintaining cover precisely as she'd obviously instructed him to._

_With a renewed but redirected determination, The Asset pressed his eye flush to the head of the scope, aiming directly at the man's head. It was inevitable that the shot was going to hit the agent as well, but would impact somewhere between her spleen and upper small intestine instead....missing all vital organs even while fatally injuring the man she was protecting._

_With not one second to spare, he made the one-in-a-million shot before either target had a chance to take another step._

_Belova jerked and toppled backward, immediately rolling onto her right side in the snow, expression stricken with pain and panic as she craned her neck to search for Dr. Schlesinger._

_The engineer's body was a few yards away from her, his dark eyes non-reactive and staring vacantly at the windy gray sky....a single hole in the center of his forehead between heavy brows....bright red splattered and soaking into the snow beneath him._

_The Asset noted that another vehicle, an old station wagon, was approaching from the same direction that Belova's car had come. Instead of targeting its occupants like he'd been instructed to, he slung the rifle strap over his shoulder and turned back to look at the fallen agent. Their eyes connected one last time as the station wagon slowed to a halt a few yards from the scene of the hit._

_As he fled, his tall darkly garbed form vanishing into the densely populated white-dusted pines, the horrible realization that he'd nearly killed her troubled and would continue haunting him until HYDRA strapped him down to punish him for a mission failed....and then finally wiped the vague memory of her away along with every other conflicting emotion that had temporarily been awakened inside him._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	30. Chapter 30

****************************************

**Chapter Thirty**

 

“It's a shame, Romanoff, 'cause I never would've figured you for a slacker, but shouldn't your vacation be over by now? Seriously, like, aren't you missing us yet, and by 'us', I mean _me_ , of course. Isn't your existence far less enthralling without me being a daily and consistent part of it? Don't lie, I know you have to be bored outta your skull. How long's it been anyway, huh? A month? _Two?_ You've gotta be tired of lounging on sunny beaches, sipping those frosty little, ridiculously-named beverages with the tiny umbrellas, just waiting for action. Am I right? And speaking of sipping someplace, where are you at again? I'm only asking to be polite. You do realize that I could've had you GPS'd and tracked weeks ago.”

Natasha hadn't called Stark yet even though she'd been contemplating it. And when the call had come from him first, almost as if he'd been sensing her need to reach out to someone, she'd even considered letting it go to voicemail. But hearing his voice again, she's actually glad that she'd answered herself instead. 

Nothing like a snarky little exchange with Tony to act as a pleasant, if only temporary, distraction from her problems.....

Current problem being that the love of her life apparently has some kind of microscopic, triangular device implanted in his brain that could be doing serious damage if it isn't removed soon, or so Dr. Cho had feared after doing the scans. 

_“He should come to within the next few hours now that I've administered the Aprexalum...but really, it's your call, Agent Romanoff.” Helen had told her before boarding the chopper back to Avengers Headquarters.“I would strongly advise setting up a med transport to fly him out to our facility, even if it's while he remains unconscious and unable to decide this for himself. Tony could have forms drawn up granting you guardianship given the unusual circumstances and conditions, and I'm sure Director Fury would back the arrangement. I can have an OR prepped for surgery the minute you arrive....and after the device has been removed safely, we'll explain the gravity of the situation to your friend as soon as he's out of recovery. Personally I think waiting for him to make the decision himself could risk irreparable damage that may ultimately result in unpredictable consequences for his health...not to mention the possibility of danger to others. Particularly if it's a HYDRA-manufactured mechanism, we really need to remove it as soon as we can.”_

_“As much as I want to, Doc...as much as this whole thing is scaring the living hell out of me, I just can't make that call without him. You don't understand....my...my friend...he's already had so much taken....he's been forced to do so many things against his will. I won't take this decision away from him, too....even if the risk is great. I want a chance to convince him when he comes to...and since it shouldn't be much longer now before that happens, I'm sure I'll be in touch with you again soon.”_

Yet Natasha's been clock-watching and worrying ever since. 

It's been almost three hours since Cho left and Bucky's still unconscious on the bed they've been sharing in the lower level guest room of the safe house. 

Hasn't moved a muscle. Not even a twitch.

“Hey, Tony...” she responds, trying her best to sound casual....masterfully disguising her state of mind as she perches restlessly on a chair in the corner of the room, eyes fixed on her fallen lover, “...I'm someplace nice and isolated, and yes, still on vacation with permission granted me by my _real_ boss rather than by this delusional, filthy-rich guy who sorta thinks he is. I'm sure Pepper wishes she could join me.”

From the background of Stark's connection, she hears the cheerful tone of his girlfriend Pepper Potts chime in, “Hello, Natasha....and yes, I would absolutely _love_ to join you, but then our favorite egomaniac would probably kill himself during some unauthorized project and no one would be here to notify the proper authorities to collect his remains. So, unfortunately, I'm stuck for the time being. But I certainly hope _you're_ having fun.”

“Sure am,” she lies, “thanks, Pepper.”

“Why does it always turn out to be the people you cherish most who respect you the least? Funny how that works....” Stark's voice comes from her phone's speaker. 

Natasha smiles for the first time that day. “At least we recognize your genius, Tony.”

He seems to pause as he considers that. “Hm...you know, you're right....and that's _much_ better, by far. So, tell me, Natasha, my dear but not nearest one....why hath Fury banished thee from civilization this time? Were you a bad girl? Or maybe even a terribly good girl? Are you on a special assignment? Some kind of secret something that I actually should probably know about, but I get the sneaking impression that the Colonel has this 'thing' about keeping me out of the loop at times in fear that I might intrude. So rude, that guy. I don't know why the big leather pirate doesn't completely trust me yet. I mean, you trust me, right? Or have I done something to offend you lately?”

“No more than usual.” she says as she stands, walking to the bedroom's huge window to peer out at the starlit darkness while still being able to see Bucky's unconscious form reflected from the glass surface.

Stark doesn't respond to the jab the way she'd expected. “Wow, okay. See there? I'm not so bad then.” he says instead. “Anyway, listen....just calling to check in with you and to let you know, by the wild chance that you're really _not_ on some pleasant, extended vacation but in need of help, in any way. To hell with Fury's secrets. You need something....anything at all, Agent....I'm here for you. Just snap your sweet little, yet extremely killing-capable fingers and I'll magically appear like your own personal genie.”

“Impressive, TS. Didn't know you'd developed a suit with that sort of capability....”

“Oh, believe me, Natasha....he's constantly working on it.” Pepper sounds amused, and Nat can imagine the sparkle in her eyes as she looks at Stark. “Just another reason I'm perpetually confined to this madhouse with him. But Tony's right....”

And he cuts in, “...which should be of no surprise to anyone whatsoever....”

It makes Nat smile. 

Pepper continues, unfazed “.....if you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to let us know, alright? We miss you.”

Suddenly a constriction forms in Natasha's throat and she feels dangerously close to breaking down and sobbing to them about everything that's been happening lately and how helpless she feels to resolve any of it. 

What wonderful people they are....all of her Avenger friends. Nick, Maria...Clint and Laura, Tony and Pepper, Bruce and Thor....and Steve. 

Her family. She should be able to share every and anything with them, but for now at least....particularly for Bucky's safety, she knows that she can't. 

This is something she has to handle on her own. 

“Will do. Thanks again, Pepper. You two take care, alright? And give Cap my regards.”

Tony makes a tsking noise. “Better give 'em yourself, he's been asking about you. Just sayin'....don't be surprised if a beefy, flag-colored antique soldier lands on your peaceful beach in the middle of nowhere. So long, Nat.”

Her heart sinks as she ends the call. Has Steve really been asking about her? Is he _that_ concerned? Of course, she knows that he would be, because that's just who Steve Rogers is. 

And with the way things are going right now, Natasha's actually beginning to wish she had his help. But she doesn't want to betray Bucky who's maybe not ready to face his old friend yet. And Cap....poor Cap is probably definitely not ready for the shock of finding out that Bucky's not only alive, but has also been been imprisoned and brainwashed by HYDRA for the past several decades....ever since he'd vanished from Steve's sight after falling from a speeding train in The Alps. 

But Nat also believes that if Bucky can trust anyone....that if _she_ can trust anybody, it would definitely be Steve. 

_“Where's the cat?”_

His voice sounds so weak...barely there, but at least it is there...

It's all that matters right now. The first tiny glimmer of hope she's had all day.

Natasha's pulse quickens and mood soars as she lays her phone on the small coffee table, turning away from the huge panoramic window to see Bucky lying there on the bed...newly conscious, eyes blinking groggily up at the ceiling. 

“You know, if you don't want the pancakes a girl is making you for breakfast, you could just say so.” she deadpans in her usual way. “That whole collapsing unconscious on the floor thing was a bit extreme.”

He scoots to sit up slowly, flexing and shrugging his neck and shoulders to get the kinks out before resting his back against the pillows. “M'sorry...” he mumbles softly as his eyes lift to meet hers.

And in a flash, Nat sprints the length of the carpeted floor and hops on the bed, her arms enveloping Bucky in a tight hug. “Goddamn you, James Barnes, don't you _ever_ scare me like that again!” she chokes out, voice breaking in a quiet sob as she buries her face in the crook of his neck close to the smooth metal shoulder. “I thought I was gonna lose you....”

Bucky eases her fully onto his lap and cradles her there gently, his lips brushing the silky red curls against her cheek. “You're gonna have to do a whole lot more than threaten to cook if you wanna get rid of me, doll. Seriously though....I didn't mean to scare you. How long was I out for?”

“A little over fifteen hours" she tells him "...since just past seven this morning.” 

“Goddamn it.” he mutters, his body resting fully into their embrace, taking a long moment to breathe in her scent. Lilac and lavender and soft spice. So familiar and so _Natalia_.

She finally loosens her grip on him and sits back just enough to get a full, up close look at his face....gazing into his big blue eyes. “Tell me exactly what the hell happened, baby....and what do you remember about it?”

“Um, well....okay...” he swallows around the scratchy, raw dryness in his throat, nodding his head, so much he wants and almost needs to tell her about what he'd experienced and remembered..but also so much that he can't mentally grasp or bear just yet. “....but can we...can we talk in the kitchen? I'm fucking famished and I could really use something cold to drink.” 

***********************************


End file.
